


Heartworm

by eve_faust



Series: Heartworm [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst, Anxiety, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Coming of Age, Eddie loves Richie So Much, Gross, Growing Up, Panic Attacks, Period-Typical Homophobia, Reddie, Wow, again please read notes beforehand for cw, all cw posted before chapters, ample use of the word fuck, fuck pennywise, i love them, i've never read, it by stephen king - Freeform, panic disorder, pennywise is not in this story, richie is so in love with eddie, specific to each chapter, they're so dumb, think hes kinda wacky, who thought "coming of age" was a good idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:47:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 53,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28765059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eve_faust/pseuds/eve_faust
Summary: While struggling with the reality of small-town living during the early 90s, Richie explores and learns to define his own sexuality, but everyone seems to keep picking at his very personal secret. He must decide whether he wants to confront himself face first or crash and burn trying to hold it all in.ORRichie and Eddie fuck around and see where a gay relationship might take them in small town Derry.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Series: Heartworm [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119899
Comments: 20
Kudos: 32





	1. Close

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!
> 
> First I want to thank everyone for stopping by this story :)
> 
> Next I want to address something very important and essential to this story and it's plot line. It centers on Richie, and the main plot of this story follows him learning about and coming into his own sexuality (this includes both romantic and sexual attraction). He's 17 throughout most of this story! There is by no means any explicit content, but sexuality is something that is discussed at length. Teenagers experience sexuality, and I think it's unhealthy to assume otherwise. If this is going to make you uncomfortable, please do not read :)
> 
> Kinda nervous to post this bc it's really my first deep dive into the IT fandom, but here we gooo.
> 
> Lastly, I want to say that the title for this piece is an abomination, but I named it a long time ago and have decided that I cannot unname it.
> 
> Here are some CW for this chapter:
> 
> canon-Bowers typical behavior, early signs/symptoms of anxiety--anxious habits, mentions of sonia's abuse not labeled as abuse, homophobia/internalized homophobia could be a cw for most of these chapters probably, the horrors of growing up and being an awkward teenager in general could probably use its own cw, canon-typical innuendos from teen-Richie, underage drinking, mention of anti-cop mentality and police brutality specifically during the 60/70s civil right's movement, mentions queer violence/death, queer slurs, specifically the f*g slur, one non-con kiss

When they were fourteen, they sat in Bill’s backyard. All of them, Richie, Stanely, Eddie, and, of course, Bill, sat with a deck of cards sprawled out between them. “This is fucking boring, Bill,” Eddie spat, throwing his cards down in the center of their circle. 

“What the fuck, Eddie?” Stan huffed. “Now we all know your cards.”

“No shit, Stanley. Can’t we do something else today besides playing  _ cards _ ?”

“D...don’t be an asshole,” Bill just about whispered. Even the slightest bit of confrontation made his stutter flare up. “You know my mom d-d-oesn’t want me d-oing anything crazy…”

“Yeah, yeah, Bill,” Richie sighed, slumping forward. “She doesn’t want you going out because you were sick  _ last week _ . You’d think your mom and Eddie’s mom switched for, like, the past month! Why’s everyone been such a bitch about everything lately? It’s almost summer, school’s almost over. Let a kid live a little!”

Everyone just rolled their eyes. “Stop dragging my mom into everything, Richie. It’s not fucking funny anymore.”

Richie threw his own cards on top of Eddie’s. “I don’t drag your mom into anything but bed, Eds.” The finger guns were a must.

“You wanna get punched? I think you  _ want _ to get punched. I’m really starting to understand how Bowers feels now.”

Richie watched as Eddie’s face flushed. Sure, it was warm out, but Richie knew the pink in his cheeks had more to do with his frustration than the heat. Richie didn’t care though, he’d take any attention he could get. It’s why he was always such an asshole, he knew it would piss Eddie off, knew he’d get a reaction. Richie only smirked, a sneaky little smile that crept up onto his face and told Eddie he had him right where he wanted him.

“Fucking dick,” Eddie muttered and lifted a leg to kick Richie over onto the ground. Richie fell with a light thud, tiny blades of grass fluffing up around him and his glasses knocking slightly off center.

Richie always liked Eddie’s company the most out of all his friends. He wasn't sure why, he just did. And from the way they bickered and kicked and punched and cursed each other out all the time, it might’ve looked like they hated each other, but Richie thought that just meant the two of them were closer than everyone else. Because they could fight and shit on each other all they wanted, and both of them knew neither meant a word of it. Richie couldn’t ever tell Bill or Stan the shit that he said to Eddie, mostly because Stan would actually punch him for real, and Richie was always scared of making Bill cry on accident.

Either way, Richie didn’t mind. He didn’t feel like he was missing out on anything when it came to Bill and Stan. Their friendship was fine where it was, it didn’t need anymore. But Eddie was different. They were at the age where guys started asking girls out, and their classmates were starting to have their first painfully awkward kisses. Richie didn’t feel the desire for any of that as long as he and Eddie could still lay in bed together and read  _ X-Men _ comics on Sunday afternoons. 

Richie sat back up with a sniffle in his nose. “Your dad just cut the grass or something, Big Bill?”

“Just this morning, I think,” he shrugged, gathering the cards back into one pile. “Why?”

“Allergies,” Richie began to say, but stopped short after just the first  _ ah _ and turned behind himself to sneeze. He rubbed his nose on his forearm before turning back around to see a very distraught Eddie, a purse on his lips and fists clenched tight at his sides.

“Oh, sorry,” Richie meant it, he swore he did because he knew how Eddie got about germs. “Did I get you, Eds? I really didn’t—”

Eddie let out the cutest scream Richie’d ever heard, squeaking and angry, before tackling him to the ground. And he didn’t mean to be so patronizing of Eddie, really he didn’t, but the kid could do no wrong in Richie’s eyes. Eddie could punch him, give him a bloody nose, and Richie’d probably just laugh it off. After a brief struggle, Eddie ended up on top of Richie, pinning his wrists beside his head. Richie couldn’t complain. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you, Tozier.”

“Eddie, I swear, I really didn’t—” His words were sincere, but the smile on his face probably only pissed Eddie off even more.

“Are you _for_ _real_ , Rich? Your gross fuckin’ _tongue sweat_ landed on my lip!” Eddie made sure to demonstrate with hand movements and everything. “I probably have _herpes_ now or whatever the fuck Bill had last week, you asshole!”

“Eds, chill,” Richie chuckled, “that’s not really now herpes work…I don’t think anyway. Also, tongue sweat? Really?”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Richie didn’t remember how he got Eddie off of him, he probably didn’t even try if he knew himself well enough. 

At fifteen, they were still reading comics in bed together, this time they were at Eddie’s. It was late on a Friday night. They’d lost track of time after school, and by now it was nearly nine o’clock, which, all things considered, isn’t really that late. But Bowers had taken a liking to Richie lately, and sometimes he even followed Richie home if he was alone or if it was dark enough. It was creepy to say the least, and he wished the guy and his friends would just get a life already. “Fuck,” he huffed, glancing over at the analog clock on Eddie’s nightstand.

“What? It’s not that late.” Eddie rolled over onto his back. “I’ll walk you home if you’re too much of a baby to face the dark on your own.” He joked and teased, but they both knew that Eddie would be the one shitting himself on his way back home. Even if it was barely a ten minute walk, Richie wouldn’t let that happen.

“It’s not that.” Richie sat up, crossing his legs in front of himself, folding his feet under knees. He recently picked up the habit of pulling at the hair near his ankle. It was getting thicker and darker, and it was weird. Everything was weird at the ripe age of fifteen. 

Eddie was winding up for another snarky comment, Richie could see it on his face, but the urge seemingly subsided, and Eddie sat up too. “Just stay over if you want,” Eddie shrugged. He said it casually enough, but he wouldn't look Richie in the eyes. 

They teased each other more than what was probably healthy, but it seemed to only be a show for everyone else. When it was just them, they barely ever argued or told the other to fuck off. Richie didn’t know what to make of that. He didn’t know if he  _ should _ make anything of that. “Yeah, sure, Eds.” It was Richie’s turn to not look up.

“Uhm…I’ll just go tell my mom.” Eddie slipped out of his room and called down to Sonia, who he still managed to call “mommy” from time to time. Richie thought it was fucking weird, and he wished Eddie would grow out of it already. To put things nicely, Sonia was an absolute bitch. She babied the poor kid to death and smothered him to no end. It was just last summer that Eddie found out she’d been shoving placebos down his throat for the past ten years, turning him into a hypochondriac mess. He hated her guts for a good half hour before she guilted him back into worshiping her again.

“Richie’s staying over tonight,” he said from downstairs. “If that’s okay…”

“Oh, Eddie. We don’t have any sleeping bags.”

“He’ll sleep in my bed, it’s fine.”

“And what about you? Where will you sleep?”

“My bed too,” he mumbled carefully.

Sonia hummed. Richie always heard her talking about the  _ queers _ next door, and it was never anything good—always her usual passive aggressive, backhanded comments that nobody wanted to hear. “I really don’t know, Eddie Bear. Isn’t it a little… _ strange _ for boys your age to be having sleepovers.”

“It’s just late, Ma. He’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

She was quiet for a long while, and then she let out a simple, “Promise?” 

“Yeah, Ma. Promise.” He quietly made his way back upstairs and into his room. Eddie closed his door as silently as possible before taking a deep breath and hopping back into bed. “She’s fucking crazy sometimes,” he whispered like he was scared that she would somehow hear from all the way downstairs. “Sometimes it scares me,” he huffed and almost immediately after shook it off. “Anyway, why don’t you wanna go home?” Richie saw what he was doing, even if unintentional, his mother was bound to rub off on him a little—opening up just enough in hopes that it’ll make Richie feel bad enough to open up himself. 

Richie wasn’t ready for that just yet though. “You already know, Eds. Scared of the dark,” he scoffed. 

Eddie rolled his eyes before pulling himself out of bed and heading over to his drawer. He kicked his shorts off, and Richie tried his best not to look, not even once, not even quickly or in passing. “You gotta stop calling me that,” he groaned, slipping a pair of sweatpants on. 

“No problemo, Spaghetti Head.”

“Fucking loser.” Eddie chucked another pair of sweatpants over at Richie, harder than he probably meant to.

“For real, Spaghetti? You think your tiny pants are gonna fit me?” Richie had gone through a ridiculous amount of growth spurts recently. His legs were the things that seemed to never stop growing, leaving him an awkward, gangly mess. He’d make jokes and laugh it off, but sometimes it bothered him more than he let on. Especially since Eddie hadn’t grown much himself. “I’m basically a whole foot taller than you at this point.”

“Yeah, right. You wish.” Eddie grumbled, “I’m not  _ that _ short.”

“You are, Eds. It’s adorable.”

“Dickhead,” Eddie grabbed his sweatpants back and shoved them in his drawer again. As far as Richie knew, Eddie thought that every time Richie called him cute it was just to get a reaction out of him. He’d like to keep it that way for a little while longer. “If you’re not wearing my pants, you better have underwear on because I don’t want your dick anywhere near me.”

“No worries.” Richie snorted out a laugh. “Besides, if I wanted to get my dick wet, I’d just—”   
  
“Jesus fucking Christ, Rich, if you say something about my mom, I’ll make you sleep outside.” He flopped back into his bed. “I’m kinda tired,” he yawned. “So just go to bed.”

When Eddie was rolled over, facing the wall, presumably with his eyes closed, Richie finally pulled his own shorts off and hurried under the blanket. This was one of those strange moments when he felt wondrously self-conscious, and he never really settled down that night. Too many different thoughts, worries, and anxieties mixing and mingling around in his head: Henry Bowers and his stupid fucking mullet had been pushed to the very back of his mind for now, but Eddie still laid next to him in a sleepy stuper, inching closer and closer to Richie’s dumb gangly limbs throughout the night. 

They woke up the next morning too close, too tangled, but Richie couldn’t bring himself to push Eddie’s head off his shoulder or move his small fingers from resting carefully on Richie’s t-shirt, even if Sonia would be barging in any moment now to ensure that Richie would make good on the promise Eddie made for him the night before in leaving first thing in the morning.

At sixteen, they met Bev Marsh, Ben Hanscom, and Mike Hanlon. Well to be exact, they met in their freshman year of high school, but they really started hanging out their sophomore year. Ben fixed up this cool hideout for them in Derry’s woods—a hollowed out, old bunker built back in who knows when. Mike would bring all sorts of snacks after getting paid by his grandpa for work put in on the farm, and Bev would even occasionally sneak some liquor from her aunt and uncle’s stash for all of them to share. It was all really nice until the beer made you start to sweat and all the heat from the day was trapped in their underground clubhouse. 

Richie swallowed thick, the neck of the beer bottle just barely sticking to the tips of his fingers. His vision blurred as Eddie swung the hammock they both sat on gently, back and forth, back and forth. 

“Pretty sure this is the first time I’ve ever seen Richie shut the fuck up for more than a minute,” Stan chided, and the rest of them chuckled. Even Eddie let out a soft giggle, his careful thumb smoothing over Richie’s knee. They lay facing each other, Richie’s legs hanging off the sides and Eddie’s gracefully tucked in around Richie’s hips. 

“I, uhm…” he started, hummed a little. “I’m gonna go up for some fresh air.” He tapped Eddie’s leg and gave him a little look, small nonverbal cues that he hoped would tell Eddie,  _ get up, I’m uncomfortable _ , but with his glassy eyes and fuzzy head, he wasn’t so sure anymore that nonverbal was the best way to go. Because Eddie liked to touch and get close when they were out of the public’s eye, but he never wanted anything more than that, never wanted to  _ be close _ , and Richie thought a beer or two might help him forget about all that, but it really just made every brush of Eddie’s skin against his that much more painful. It made him dwell, and he was sick and tired of being close when he didn’t feel close.

He’d come to terms with it a couple months ago, and he’d told himself, only himself, that it was okay. He told himself that he’d kiss a girl in the bathroom at school or fuck someone at a party, just to get rumors started, just to get everyone off his back. Julia Clein always seemed to have her eyes all over him, bet she’d be down.

He made his way up the little step stool of a ladder and moved far away enough from the entrance so that nobody could hear him, just in case. Shit sucked, and he could never tell Eddie what was going on. He couldn’t tell anyone, not his parents or Bill or Stan or any of his friends because they wouldn’t get it. Fucked up shit happened to people like him in small towns like this in the over zealous year of 1991. He tried his best to do his research as quietly as he could, weigh the pros and cons of telling someone, anyone. It’d been over two decades since people like Richie started fighting for their rights to be seen and occasionally heard, but Richie wasn’t like those people, not really anyway. Sure they had one thing in common, but the people who fought weren’t cowards. The people who marched proudly down the streets and threw bricks at cops were brave, and someday they’d be the reason why people like Richie could also march proudly without having to fear the brutal death that marched steadily behind them. 

He liked to think that was why, he used it as an excuse, that Derry, Maine wasn’t New York City, and people up here got their asses kicked just for standing too close together. Sure, he was scared to tell his friends and family, but he didn’t really think they’d do anything. Maybe his parents would tell him to fuck off and get out, and maybe Eddie and Bill and Stan and Bev and Mike and Ben would never talk to him again, socially distance themselves until they were never again associated with  _ that faggot kid _ . But on the off chance that that information reached Bowers, he’d be dead, and not the kind of dead where you miss your curfew and come home late thinking,  _ I’m dead, Dad’s gonna kill me _ , like real dead, bloodily, brutally dead. 

Henry Bowers already called him a fag and a fairy and whatever else he could come up with, but Richie didn’t think Bowers really thought he was gay. He just did it to be an asshole, for shits and giggles. That’s why Richie always asked to sleep over at Eddie’s, that’s why he didn’t want to walk home in the dark. Bowers fucked with him a lot last summer, but this year, he’d lightened up. Richie took a deep breath, wiped his face, and pressed the cold beer to his temple. He’d have to go back soon, or they’d start coming out after him, and that was the last thing Richie wanted.

“Rough day, huh?”

Richie swallowed hard, took another deep breath, and turned to face Eddie, arms crossed and a smirk on his face. “How long have you been standing there?” He was sure he’d talked to himself a little bit, let out the occassion  _ fuck this _ , and he’d cried so that was embarassing enough. 

“Not long,” Eddie sighed and took a seat next to Richie so they were facing each other. “What’s wrong?” Richie only responded by taking a swig from his bottle, the slosh of almost gone liquid clinking against the glass as he tipped it up and down, so Eddie continued, “They can’t hear you, y’know. Music’s too loud, they’re too drunk. We don’t have to tell anyone else.” Eddie took hold of Richie’s knee again, used it as a pillow. 

“And what about you?” Richie muttered. “Is your music too loud? Are you too drunk?” Richie hated himself, what was that even  _ supposed to mean _ ?

Eddie only looked up at him through his lashes, a blank expression washed over his face. “Barely drank anything, Rich,” he held up his nearly half drunk bottle. “Still on my first one. You know, my mom would kill me if she found out.”

“Thought alcohol was an antiseptic,” Richie scoffed, “just tell her you were trying to clear out all the germs.”

Eddie sat up with a laugh and pushed at Richie’s shoulder, gently, carefully, and with no malice behind it. “You’re so fucking annoying.” And then he just sat there, pulled his bare legs to his chest and rested his chin on his own knees this time. He always wore those stupid shorts ever since he was a kid, the ones that only reached his upper thigh. Richie was sure they’d gone out of style in the 80s, but maybe he was just hopeful that he’d stop being teased so much by Eddie’s legs. While Richie just kept growing up and up and up, Eddie filled out nicely. He got a little bit taller, not quite the height of a normal person yet, but he got thicker and broader. Sometimes Richie couldn’t tell if he  _ wanted _ Eddie or if he wanted  _ to be _ Eddie. 

Right now he could tell though, he was sure of what he wanted. Richie wasn’t sure, however, if it was the beer or the way Eddie was looking at him, but he could’ve sworn that Eddie seemed to want the same thing. He decided to get brave, real brave, and he leaned in closer, scooched his way through the dirt and leaves so their faces only sat inches apart. All he had to do was reach, just a little further, and kiss Eddie carefully, so he did. It was weird, more weird than when he started growing leg hair. 

It seemed like it had lasted an eternity, like he lived there on Eddie’s lips for the rest of his high school career, but when he pulled away, he knew it couldn’t have been longer than a few seconds. For a moment, he thought maybe Eddie felt the same because he didn’t pull away or punch Richie in the gut, but when he opened his eyes again to look at Eddie, he seemed pissed or confused or both, probably both. “Sorry,” Richie muttered, and he pushed himself away before Eddie could do it himself. Panic began to seep down from his heart to his stomach, and he fought the urge to pull at the hair near his ankle again. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t—”

“It was the beer,” Eddie muttered, and Richie heard something pained in his voice. It stuck in the very bottom of his throat. “Right, Richie?” Eddie stood. “You’re just drunk, right?” He spoke startlingly calm, like he was just waiting for Richie to play along.

“Yeah,” Richie lied. “Yeah, that’s it.” It was quiet then, and Eddie turned to stalk off. “Don’t,” he hesitated, “don’t tell anyone, Eds? Please?”

“I’m not going to talk about this anymore, Richie, to anyone.”

And they didn’t. They didn’t talk about it ever again. For the next week after that, Eddie kept his distance, and Richie thought he fucked up big time, but soon enough, they were back to reading comics, back to being close without really being close.

When they were seventeen, they met up with Bill, Stan, Bev, Ben, and Mike after school. Eddie wanted to stop at his locker after class, but the rest of them just wanted to leave. Richie stayed behind with him, and they walked into town together. “Can we…” Richie started, “can we take a little detour?”

“I don’t care,” Eddie shrugged, “just don’t get us tangled up with Bowers. It’s the last day of their senior year. I’m sure they’re looking for some kind of trouble to celebrate.”

“All this time,” Richie scoffed, “and they haven’t found something better to do. Wonder what they’re gonna do when the summer is up and it's either time for them to go to college or get a real job.”

“Patrick’ll probably go work for his dad at the auto shop. Henry’s dad is a cop though, so he’ll probably get kicked out soon enough.”

“Imagine how fucking scary it would be if Bowers turned into a cop,” Richie snorted and thought that Bowers was a cop he’d like to throw a brick at. 

Richie’s hair was long now, it almost reached his shoulders. He still had his thick framed glasses, but he traded in his shorts for jeans, even in the summer. It made him feel better about his freakishly long legs. Bev was right though. A long time ago she told him that he would grow into his looks, and he thought he did even if it was just the slightest bit. Maybe it was because he dressed to make himself feel more comfortable now, and his looks didn’t really change at all.

Eddie was as cute as ever, still too short and still wearing his shorts that were too short. Richie would say that he finally reached a solid five and a half feet, but Richie himself was bordering on six already. His mom didn’t make him pomade his hair back anymore, and it fell in soft waves over his forehead and around his ears. Richie liked the summer because it meant that Eddie’s freckles would come out. He never really got tanned himself, stayed the same cool pale year round. Bev had freckles too, and he considered getting with her at some point, but he decided that might be too mean. He then decided he’d stay a virgin forever…or move to New York, but Eddie probably wouldn’t be in New York. 

“You remember the last time we passed by here? We saw Greta swallowing Patrick’s tongue, and he chased us all the way to Hedden Ave.”

Eddie snorted out a laugh. “Seriously, who the fuck would we have told?”

“Bev, Mike, Stan—”

“Yeah, but besides them? Nobody who actually gives a shit.”

“I think he just gets off on beating people up.” Richie leaned up against the wooden railing of the bridge. Everyone called it The Kissing Bridge, hence why they saw Patrick and Greta sucking face here a couple months back. People came here to make out or confess or carve stupid hearts into the guard rail. It was pretty gross and cringey, so Richie was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. 

Eddie stood across from Richie, arms folded over his chest as he eyed the wooden panel to Richie’s right.  _ He noticed _ , Richie thought,  _ now all I have to do is wait for a reaction _ . “The fuck is that, Rich?” Eddie deadpanned, and his eyes trailed back up to meet Richie’s.  _ Shit _ .

“What’s what?” He turned and pretended to follow where Eddie’s gaze was just a moment ago.

“R and E? Really? Don’t fucking tell me that was you.” A little smile tugged at Eddie’s lips, but Richie couldn’t quite read him.

“Oh yeah, look at that.” Of course it was Richie, but he wasn’t going to admit that  _ now _ .

“Richie, don’t play fucking coy.” Eddie pushed at Richie’s shoulder, completely unthreatening with the smile still held firm on his lips, almost like he wanted Richie to say it.

“It’s probably just a coincidence!” He panicked. “Look at that ‘B’ in a heart over there, that could literally be anyone. Ben, Bill, Bev, just to name a few. Maybe someone’s even crushing on Bowers.”

“ _ Probably _ a coincidence?” Eddie scoffed, ignoring most of what he just said. “What’s that even supposed to mean?”

“Watch your fucking trashmouth, Tozier.” Richie tensed at Henry Bowers’s voice. How the hell did that mouth breather even manage to sneak up on them? “Keep my fuckin’ name out it.”

Eddie moved in a little closer to Richie, but Richie pushed both of them out into the open. It would be easier to run away if they weren’t pinned up against the guard rail. It definitely didn’t help that all four meatheads decided to show up at once. 

“Bold of two fuckin’ fairies to come wandering out around this place, huh?”

Richie just rolled his eyes and took Eddie’s wrist to pull him along. They should just run, it would be so much easier to just  _ run _ . But Eddie stood his ground, feet planted firmly and little fists taut at his sides. 

“Look at that, boys. The faggots are holding hands.” Richie pulled harder at Eddie’s wrist, but Eddie only stumbled a little before regaining his balance. It wasn’t worth it. “Dare you two to fuckin’ kiss. We are  _ here _ , after all.” Bowers bit his lip. There was something crazy in his eyes that Richie never understood, pure rage and hatred. Fuck that. He didn’t want to mess with that. “Come on, go ahead. Why not put on a little show?” Richie spotted the knife hanging loose out of his back pocket.

Eddie stomped his foot, and Richie knew they were done for. “If you wanna see us kiss so fucking bad, Bowers, are you sure you’re not the fag?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, kid,” Richie muttered, shaking his head.

“Fucking kill him,” Bowers spit out. “I said, fucking  _ kill him _ !”

That’s when Eddie broke. Richie tugged as the four older boys ran after them, every single one of them breaking into a full on sprint. “You’re an idiot!” Richie screamed between ragged breaths. 

“Don’t fucking care,” Eddie started to wheeze, and his short legs aided in him falling behind. “Motherfuckers deserve it.” Somehow, Eddie still had that shit eating grin on his face.

“You’re a psycho, Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie held onto his wrist tighter, practically dragging him along at this point.

They reached Main Street just quick enough. Richie tapped the glass of the diner’s door, where they were all meant to meet in the first place, just as Bowers took hold of the handle on Eddie’s backpack. Richie never let go of his wrist. It caught the attention of almost everyone in the restaurant: customers, the waiters, their friends… Bowers let him go, but not before slamming him into the door. “Don’t let me see your fuckin’ fag face around here again or I’ll fucking beat it in.”

Richie forced the lump in his throat down. He knew Bowers didn’t bluff. “Come on.” Richie pulled Eddie inside. His smile was faded, and he pulled Bev out of the more empty side of the booth and slid himself in, tugging Richie along with him.

“The fuck was that?” she huffed as she sat back down.

Eddie threw his backpack in his lap and scrambled around inside. Richie saw him start to shake, and his heavy breathing never evened, shallow little gulps of air. “Gimme,” Richie ripped the bag away from Eddie and dumped everything out on the table. He grabbed the inhaler and shoved it into Eddie’s trembling fingers. Eddie gave it a quick shake before taking a deep breath in and throwing his head back. “Fucking Christ, Eds. You’ll never learn.” Richie started packing up his bag again.

“You wanna tell us what that was all about?” Beverly pulled her water to her chest, seemingly out of breath from just watching the two of them huff and heave.

“Bowers is a dick,” Richie mumbled matter of factly. “And Eddie doesn’t know when to shut up.”

Stan snorted. “Thought that was your job, Rich.”

Eddie let out a small chuckle. “Water, Richie.” He held out a blind hand, and Richie shook his head, grabbing a glass from the table that seemed untouched. Eddie picked the straw out and downed nearly the whole glass. 

“Better?” Richie raised an eyebrow, and Eddie nodded.

“ _ Anyway _ ,” Bill mumbled, “before you guys interrupted, we were just talking about going to the baseball game this Friday.”

“ _ Why _ ?” Richie groaned. 

“Why not?” Bev shrugged. “You got any better ideas to get out of the house, Richie?”

“Well, no, but—”

“I think it’ll be fun,” Ben nodded. “Plus, Mike’ll be playing.”

“You’re shittin’ me, right?” Richie huffed. “Since when did you even join the team?”

Mike shrugged. “Didn’t wanna tell anyone until I knew I made it.”

“Listen, Mike,” Eddie leaned forward now, “I don’t know much about sports, but wouldn’t you have tried out like… _ months  _ ago?”

“Well, yeah, but I—”

“Come on, guys. That’s not the point,” Stan interrupted. “Mike is gonna be playing on Friday, and we should all go.”

“Yeah, for sure.” Richie nodded. “I’m down.”

Through a little bit of screaming and a lot of chaos, they all managed to order their food and drinks. Richie almost felt bad for their waitress, but she probably dealt with worse throughout the day. Being together, all seven of them, made Richie happy. Of course it did, they were his best friends, but he didn’t like staying at home. It pissed him off for some reason, and being with Eddie only ever distracted him, and sometimes it wasn’t the best kind. It distracted him to the point where he’d overthink, get too deep in his own head. But when he was with the rest of them, he could let loose, he could relax. And Eddie’s laugh was calming and grounding instead of straight up overwhelming like it could be when it was just the two of them.

Richie heard Bev make a passing remark as they all ate, something about “Tozier” and “that time with the movies.”

Richie scoffed. “That’s  _ so _ not how it happened! I asked you to hang out, and  _ you _ just thought I wanted to make out.”

“Whatever you say, Rich,” she sang. “We all know each and every one of you went through a phase where you were into me.  _ Kinda _ weird, really.”

Everyone laughed because it was probably true. Bev only liked Ben though. Richie knew because she told him and made him swear not to tell a single soul. Richie thought she felt most comfortable around him because deep down, he felt like she knew. It was a sort of unspoken secret between the two of them that floated around for the past few months. It made him appreciate the snarky remarks she always sent his way even more, the ones that made him seem straight.

Eddie laughed at something Stan mumbled under his breath and slapped his hand down on Richie’s thigh. Normally, Richie wouldn’t have been taken by surprise, but Eddie stayed there for the rest of their meal. At some point he started scratching gently into Richie’s jeans, sometimes sweeping his whole hand up or down. Richie tried his best not to yell like he wanted to, draw more attention, but when Eddie started to creep higher and higher—and really what the fuck was that? Some cruel joke? He didn’t have the guts to look over at Eddie and find out—Richie reached his own hand down to push him away. Eddie only grabbed onto it and laced their fingers together. He hoped to whatever cosmic being that was out there that nobody could see them under the table. 

Eddie held Richie’s hand hostage for the remainder of their time at the diner, and when they all finished eating, Eddie stuck his other hand under the table. He played with Richie’s fingers, lightly ran his blunt nails over Richie’s palm, and every time he tried to pull away, Eddie held on tighter. 

  
  



	2. New Edition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again :)
> 
> I'm not sure how often I'll be posting, I haven't worked out a concrete schedule yet. Most of this story is already completed. I have yet to finish the last chapter. But I have been working on this whole story since May 2020, and let me tell you it's been a trip. I think my writing has changed both stylistically and in a basic matter of skill level since then, so you all will get to see that through this story too.
> 
> Here are all the CWs for this chapter:  
> (internalized) homophobia (again), mentions of what Richie labels as paranoia which is probably more accurately attributed to symptoms of anxiety, mentions of death and its smell (probably of an animal), hints of neglectful parenting, coming out, mentions of Alvin Marsh, recreational use of marijuana, queer slurs

The end of the week snuck up on Richie, and before he knew it he was thrown into the stands of their high school’s baseball field. Eddie sat to his left and Bev sat to his right. Richie wasn’t a fan of this kind of thing—sports, he meant. He wasn’t a fan of sitting on cold metal for three hours on end watching something he could barely follow. It was okay though because it was Mike that was playing, and everyone else here was probably thinking the same thing. Or maybe some people actually enjoyed baseball, he couldn’t really tell.

When two hours had already passed, and neither team showed any signs of stopping some time soon, Richie turned to Bev. “Hey, when’s halftime?”

Bev only snorted at first. “It’s baseball, Rich. There’s no half time.”

“Oh,” he frowned and lost any confidence he had in tracking this game. When Mike was up at bat, he managed to hit the ball though and everyone cheered, so you know, at least he knew Mike was doing well. That’s all Richie really cared about.

“This inning should end pretty soon though. Then they’ll take a little break.”

Based on the cheers and cries that came from the stands, Richie would take a guess and say that their team was pretty good, but he was almost relieved when the crowd died down. “Is this the break?” Richie mumbled.

“Yes, Richie,” she chuckled, rolling her eyes. “This is the break.”

“Cool, I’m gonna go get a snack.” He stood, and, before leaving, offered up, “Anyone want anything?”

Everyone started to hand over their loose change and requests.

“Fucking Christ, you’re all so needy. Don’t know if I’ll be able to carry back all your shit on my own.”

“I’ll go with you.” Eddie stood with a smile. “Come on.” The walk to the concession stand was quiet, but Richie could feel Eddie’s eyes on him the whole time. He was just glad that Eddie decided to spare him tonight, wearing an actual pair of jeans instead of those stupid shorts. Fuck those shorts.

They stood in line, and Richie hesitated, wrestled with his thoughts. Eventually he blurted out a dejected, “You know, you don’t have to follow me  _ everywhere _ , Eds.” That’s definitely not what he wanted to say, or how he wanted to say it. He bit his tongue as soon as the words left his mouth, the instant wave of regret sliding down his skin. Eddie had just been glued to his side for the past week, even more than usual, and it was starting to freak Richie out, made him paranoid.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re an asshole, Rich?” Eddie mumbled, playing with his own fingers.

“I didn’t—” Richie sighed. “That’s not what I meant to say.”

“We’re…we’re best friends, Richie,” Eddie shrugged. “And like, I know we all met at the same time, you, me, Bill, and Stan, but sometimes I feel like we’re  _ bester _ best friends.”

Richie couldn’t help the smile that tugged not so subtly at his lips. He snorted, “That’s fuckin’ stupid, S’ghetti.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie mumbled back, punching Richie in the shoulder. “Sorry if I like hanging out with my bestest best friend.”

“Yeah,” Richie chuckled, adding a careful, “I get it…”

They ordered for all of them, Eddie carried the drinks back, and Richie carried the food—a box of sour candy and Pepsi for Bev, a hot dog and Fanta for Ben, an iced tea for Stan, and a diet Coke for Bill because  _ it tastes better, Richie. Yes, it really does. Fuck you _ . They dispersed everything, and then Richie sat with a quiet huff, bag of popcorn sitting haphazardly on his thigh. Eddie leaned over and still managed to find a place to rest his hand even with the bag in his way. “Can I have some?” And he didn’t wait for a response before shoving his hand in.

Richie only tilted it so Eddie could reach in more easily. He was sick and tired of this, of not knowing what was going on, of being paranoid and looking over his shoulder all the time because Eddie’s touch would linger just a little too long, because even after he wasn’t hovering over the bag anymore, his hand stayed put on Richie’s leg. Richie always felt like everyone was staring at him when things like that happened, like everyone  _ knew _ and they were just waiting for the right time to expose him.

He didn’t mind so much when they weren’t in public, when they were in Eddie’s room. He could just tell Eddie to fuck off and push him away, or he could let Eddie be and it wouldn’t make a different except for fuel the absolute dread that he felt in the pit of his stomach because he knew he was lying. He was lying to his  _ bestest _ best friend, and that wasn’t okay.

The Monday after the football game, Eddie came over to Richie’s, which barely ever happened because they had to go through the garage to get into the house. Well, they didn’t  _ have _ to, but the front door was always locked and Richie wasn’t going to walk all the way around the house to go through the back door because Eddie was scared of the bad smell in his garage. “It smells like death, man. I swear to God, it does.” Eddie huffed, pulling his t-shirt over his mouth and nose.

Richie shrugged and pushed the door open, holding it for Eddie and closing it behind both of them because Eddie didn’t want to touch  _ the death door _ . “You wanna go look through all that shit and find what’s making the smell, Eds?”

“No,” he huffed.

“Good, neither do I. Glad we’re on the same page.” Neither of his parents were ever home. Mr. Tozier was a “big time” (note the sarcasm) dentist and spent most of his day at work or in his home office, so even when he was home, he wasn’t  _ really _ home. And Mrs. Tozier just didn’t like to stay home, she went out to get her nails done or her hair done or go hang out with her  _ girlfriends _ ; that word always pissed Richie off a hell of a lot more than it should have. To Richie they weren’t Mr. and Mrs. or even Mom and Dad, they were just Went and Maggie. Point being, nobody else was going to clean out the garage, so why should he? Nobody would even be home to notice the effort anyway. “You want anything before we go upstairs?” Richie called, looking through the fridge, but Eddie was already half way up their stairs. 

“No, Richie! Come on!”

Richie heard his bedroom door get kicked open, and he grabbed a can of soda before following Eddie upstairs. When Richie got there, Eddie had already made himself comfortable on his bed. “Look what I got over the weekend.” He threw his backpack on the floor and waved around a freshly printed comic. 

“New edition?”

Eddie nodded and rolled over onto his stomach to start flipping through. They weren’t that invested anymore, not in the sense of keeping up with the plot and buying every new chapter that came out. They were older now, next year would be their last year of high school before moving on to bigger and better things.

Richie laid down next to him anyway and stared absently at the animations on each page. Even Eddie was flipping through the comic more like a magazine than a story book. He stopped about halfway through and closed it up again with a sigh. Richie rolled over and wiggled one hand behind his head. “Bored?”

Eddie looked like he was thinking, like he was seriously contemplating something, seemed like life or death. He stayed laying on his stomach, body propped up on his elbows, and he glanced carefully over at Richie. “You know,” he chose his words carefully, “ _ The X-Men _ are only a thing because of gay people.”

Richie tensed and tried his absolute best not to look over at Eddie. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It  _ means _ that the X-Men were created by Stan Lee because he was inspired by the civil rights movement in the 60s. That includes…you know, gay people too.”

“So…what? You’re saying all of them are gay?”

“ _ No _ !” Eddie sat up and slapped the comic over Richie’s stomach. “I mean, I guess some of them might be! There’s no way Professor X and Magneto are straight though. Honestly, fuck it, yeah they’re probably all gay.”

“Would you keep your voice down, Eddie!” Richie sat up too now. “Why the fuck are you even talking about that shit?”

Eddie only looked at him with anger in his eyes, sadness and hurt settled deep into his expression, something Richie hadn’t seen in him since they beat each other up back in the sixth grade when fighting for the last piece of Bill’s birthday cake. Richie pursed his lips because maybe he was wrong to yell, but this was so frustrating.  _ Eddie _ was so frustrating. “What’s wrong, Rich?” he huffed. “You as closed minded as Bowers now?” He stood and grabbed his backpack, leaving the comic resting in Richie’s lap. “I’m not going through your stupid fucking garage, so lock your damn front door when I leave, asshole.”

Richie was frustrated and angry and confused, even more so than before because why the fuck did Eddie even give a shit? And he barely even  _ said _ anything. He only told Eddie to shut the hell up, and he’s done that thousands of times! Both of them were getting defensive, sensitive, touchy. Richie had a feeling in his gut, it was telling him something he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear yet, but he couldn’t talk to Eddie about it. They didn’t just  _ talk _ about things like that.

~*~

Eddie hadn’t talked to him for a whole forty-eight hours when Richie mustered up the courage to call Bev. “Meet me at our spot at noon, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, Richie. But why?”

“Just do it,  _ please _ ?”

They sat in their clubhouse, the one that Ben cleaned out for all of them. They didn't come here as much as they used to, and it showed in the way that the dirt collected on the floor and the flashlight that hung from the ceiling flickered from time to time. Richie sat on one of the plastic lawn chairs that they’d thrown down here, and Bev took a seat right on one of the rungs of the ladder. “So what’s up?” She pulled a tiny flask out of the front pocket on her overalls and held it out to him. “Want some?”

Richie scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, gonna need some of that to get through this shit.”

“Okay, but what even is ‘ _ this shit _ ’, huh?” She eyed him as she bit down on one of her fingernails.

“Fuck, alright.” He handed the tiny bottle back to her, and she took a sip herself. “So I've been thinking a lot lately…” 

Bev hummed, “It’s always nice to pick up new hobbies, Rich.”

“Real funny, Bev.” Richie rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “I’m serious though. If there’s one thing in my life that I’ve ever been serious about it’s this.”

“Spooky,” she smirked. “I like funny, asshole Richie better, bring him back.”

“Bev!” he groaned and threw his hands up in the air. He was so nervous, he actually thought he might throw up if he didn’t get this out of the way soon. His stomach knotted and cramped, he couldn’t stop his leg from bouncing up and down, up and down even if he wanted to, and he was sweating so much, like  _ way _ too much even though he was wearing his long jeans at the very tail end of June. He took a deep breath and wiped his sticky palms on the thighs on his denim. 

“Jesus, kid. You alright?” She almost laughed a little when she said it, but Richie knew she was finally starting to recognize the severity of his situation. 

“Bev, we’re literally the same age,  _ and _ I’m taller than you. You can’t call me ‘kid’.”

“Oh, but you can call Eddie ‘kid’?” She winked at him before taking another sip from the flask. It sent a shiver that reverberated from his core and was sent out through every one of his limbs. She knew. Of course she knew. She knew everything. “Is that how this works?”

“Well, yeah, cause he’s like three feet tall! Fuck, Bev, for real! I’m starting to freak out, and if I don’t tell someone soon, I think I might actually die.”

“That’s a little dramatic, Tozier, don’t you think?”

“No, it’s not. I’ll really die. I’ll explode, shit myself so bad, there’s no coming back from it.”

Bev took a deep breath and stood, not amused in the very least by his joking or lack thereof, and she let the flask slide back into her pocket, crossing her arms over her chest. “Can I take a stab at what all this is about?” She waved her hand around in the air as if  _ this shit _ was tangible and floating all around them ( _ gross _ ). It sure as hell felt like it to Richie, like every mention of  _ this _ made his body convulse and compress just a little bit more than the second before. 

“Uh…” Richie’s mind went blank. “I guess? You wouldn’t know thought, it’s—”

“You’re gay.” She paused, Richie paused, and it was quiet. He knew that she knew, he knew it, but it still caught him off guard to hear her say it, to hear anyone say it out loud. “Right? That’s it, Richie? You’re gay?” She didn’t sound demeaning or mocking when she said it either, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was under attack, like she was indifferent towards him now. He told himself that it was just the paranoia.

“How,” Richie muttered, smearing his sticky palms together and pulling at his fingers nervously. “How did you know?”

She clicked her tongue at him. “Come on, I see the way you look at Eddie.”

“Hey,” he huffed, reaching up a shaky hand to rub the back of his neck. It was hot, it was so hot under here, and his hair was sticking to the back of his neck like a damn rug. “It’s not like that. You don’t have to drag Eddie into this. He doesn’t deserve to be—”

“Whoa, whoa! Richie, I’m not… _ mad _ at you or anything. You know that, right? I don’t give a shit,” she shrugged and reached into her front pocket again. “Here, finish it,” she chuckled. “You need it a hell of a lot more than I do.”

He took it and tilted his head back. “Thanks, Bev.” He ran a hand through his hair, still coming down from the high of throwing himself into a panic. But he felt relieved in a way, like he could finally just calm the fuck down for once. “I think this kinda goes without saying, but please don’t tell anyone.”

“For sure.” She dragged a chair over to sit down next to him. 

“Promise? Like not even Bill or Stan and especially not Eddie.”

Beverly chuckled again. “Yeah, Richie. I promise. Don’t worry.” She took a deep breath and glanced over at him, a soft smile sat gently on her lips. Richie wondered how she managed to turn out so cool with the fuckup of a dad that she had to live with for the first fifteen years of her life. Luckily, she had other family in the area, but Richie still wished he could beat the ever living hell out of her father for all the shit he’d done to her. She was cool though, she’d always been so cool. “You know, it’s not necessarily my place to say, but I think you should know that I see the way Eddie looks at you too.”

They sat in silence for a long moment. Richie needed it, his mind needed it. After a while of just listening to the birds in the trees above and the squirrels running around on their rooftop, Richie handed the now empty flask back to Bev. “What do you mean by that?”

She pocketed the flask. “By what?”

“You said you see the way Eddie looks at me… How does he look at me?”

“Like he’s fuckin’ head over heels for you, like somehow his dorky, asshole of a best friend has managed to sweep him off his feet.  _ Pft _ , Richie, for real? He hasn’t been able to keep his hands off you for the past week! I thought you two had finally worked something out, but…” she trailed off, the whole situation proving her theory wrong.

“Yeah, well, he hasn’t talked to me for the past two days because I  _ am _ an asshole of a best friend.”

“Oh, come on, Rich! I didn’t mean it like  _ that _ , I just meant that you’re an annoying little shit.”

“Thanks, Bev,” he snorted. “That makes it a whole lot better.”

“No! What I mean is that you’re not an asshole, I don’t care what Stan says, and especially not to Eddie.  _ So my point is _ …whatever happened, I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. And even if it was, Eddie can’t last more than three days without you. I’ll bet he even gives you a call tonight.”

“Hm. You think?”

“Yeah, Richie. Trust me. Kid’s fucking in love with you. Might be a good idea to just tell him how you feel.”

“Fuck that, Bev. I’d rather stay a virgin forever than risk having Eddie hate me.”

“Uhm…cute? I guess… You’re absolutely ridiculous though. Did you not just hear me? He’s totally in love with you. Bet he has been since you guys were like…five or something.”

“Yeah, well. We’ll see.”

“Yep.”

“And uh…thanks, Bev. For real. Thanks for being so cool.”

She hummed, picking at the cap of the flask. “Mhm.”

~*~

Bev was right. Eddie called Richie later that night to tell him that he had a surprise and was coming over. Richie almost had to laugh because here he was, nearly shitting himself for the past two days thinking Eddie hated him, and now Eddie’s acting like nothing even happened. They met halfway between their houses because Richie didn’t trust half the people in this town (and by half the people, he meant Bowers and Co. which might as well have been half of Derry’s population). Before Richie left, he remembered to grab the key for the front door, just for Eddie’s sake. He didn’t need the kid having a heart attack right after they started talking again. 

“Sorry, by the way,” Richie mumbled as he jammed the key back into the front door. “I didn’t mean to be such an asshole the other night.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “ _ I’m _ the asshole. I’m the one that just ran out.”

“Yeah, it’s whatever though. We’re past it, right?” He threw the key on the kitchen table before they climbed up the stairs.

Eddie nodded. “Water under the bridge.”

“Sweet.” Richie took a deep breath, sighed out of relief. “So what’s this surprise you’ve promised me?” He sat back on his bed as Eddie closed the door and reached for his fanny pack. Richie couldn’t believe he still wore that thing, but it was pretty fucking adorable. “It’s for emergencies, Richie!” he would always say.

“Look at what I fuckin’ scored!” Eddie pulled out a little plastic bag and waved it in Richie’s face.

“Whoa! Eds! Have you ever even smoked before?”

“Once or twice,” he shrugged. “Besides, I figured we both needed to relax a little. You’ve seemed a little tense lately.” He tossed the bag over to Richie. “You’re probably better at rolling than me.”

“Fuck, I’m so excited, Eds. This is like, the best surprise you could’ve ever surprised me with.”

Eddie only chuckled as he pushed open the window. Then he sat next to Richie on the bed. “You sure it’s okay to smoke in here?” Eddie watched as Richie carefully rolled up the little square of paper.

“Why not?”

Eddie shrugged.

“Mags and Went don’t give a shit, Spaghetti Head, if that’s what you’re getting at.” He handed Eddie the first joint before rolling another. “Where’d you even get this shit? Mr. Keene?”

Eddie snorted. “Yeah, right… Imagine? My mom might actually stop trying to drug me if she found out the pharmacist sold me pot. Might just have to tell her it was Mr. Keene after all.”

“You won’t,” Richie smiled.

“No. I won’t, but it would be funny as hell.”

“It would.” Richie chuckled and leaned back to grab a lighter from his drawer. “For real though, where’d you get it? Gotta make sure it’s not laced with LSD or anything crazy like that.”

Eddie bit into his bottom lip as he kicked at Richie’s legs. “You’re such an idiot. But, uh…you remember that weird kid in my chemistry class last year? Michael something?”

“You’re not restoring my faith in this shit, Eds,” he leaned in to let Eddie hold his joint to Richie’s lighter, “by telling me you got it from ‘Michael Something’.” 

“He grows it himself,” Eddie let out a cough between words after his first inhale, “I think, with one of his friends. It’s crazy he was talking about how he has this whole set up in his closet with like, heat lamps and shit.”

“Gross.” Richie took a puff anyway. “So uh…why were you with this Michael guy?”

“Jealous?”

Richie rolled his eyes. “ _ No _ ! But you called him ‘that weird guy from my chem class’ so it seems like you’re not really interested in spending time with him.”

“Bill and I just bumped into him the other day,” Eddie shrugged. “We said hello, and he brought up that he sells.” He leaned back towards the window to huff out a cloud of smoke. 

“And you didn’t wanna share this beautiful moment with Billie Boy instead?”

“You know he doesn’t smoke, Rich.” He laughed, and tiny zephyrs of left over smoke puffed from between his lips as he spoke. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re acting like a jealous boyfriend right now.” He made a little face, pouted his lips and fluttered his lashes. He was trying to get under Richie’s skin, and it was working, probably not as effectively as it would have had the high not started to kick in.

“Told you, I’m not jealous.”

“I think you’re lying.”

“Do you?”

“I do.”

They ended up smoking nearly the entire bag. “We,” Richie laughed, “we should leave some. For later.” He pointed to barely the joint and a half’s worth of weed left in the bag. By midnight they found themselves lying together, the window still open, and Eddie curled up into Richie’s side. “Fuck, man,” Richie huffed. “ _ Fuck _ .” Everything seemed way too funny, from the way he was able to find faces in the designs of the wallpaper to the way Eddie drew aimless pictures into Richie’s stomach. By the feel of it, Richie thought he was drawing a penguin, or maybe it was a chicken. It definitely had wings. “I think…I think maybe you should bump into Michael Something more often.”

Eddie all but giggled. “Yeah. I think that sounds good. I think that sounds  _ so _ fuckin’  _ good _ .”

He wanted to ask Eddie what it was, a chicken or a penguin, but he couldn’t muster up the energy, or maybe the words just never came out, dissipated into the part of his mind where forgotten thoughts went. Or maybe he did ask Eddie, and he just didn’t remember. But then he also didn’t remember Eddie’s answer. Eddie sat up abruptly, hand still pressed firm into Richie’s shirt as he propped his body up. “What?” Richie mumbled, and Eddie just looked down at him intently. “What the fuck?”

“Richie.”

“Yeah?”

“Richie…fuckin’ Tozier.” He looked like he might cry. Maybe it was because of something the penguin did.

“Yeah?”

“Richie, has anyone ever told you,” he paused and giggled, “that you’re like, literally the cutest ever?”

He cackled, snorted, laughed so hard he couldn’t see. “No, S’ghetti. Never.”

“Well you  _ are _ ! Holy  _ fuck _ !” He rolled onto his back. “I can’t take it anymore, you’re  _ so _ cute. You’re so cute, I wish you would just kiss me already! Jesus fucking Christ, Rich.”

That was funny too. It was funny that Eddie wanted Richie to kiss him. It wasn’t scary or nerve-racking or any of the things it might have been if he hadn’t just smoked enough to send himself to Marz and back. “Wanna kiss you so bad, Eds.”

Eddie rolled back over to throw his arms over Richie’s torso. “Then  _ do it _ , shitbag.” So Richie pushed Eddie onto his back again and kissed him. It was messy and bad, and they wouldn’t have even known what to do if they were sober. Eddie would’ve hated it, all the teeth and dry tongues and no order to it whatsoever. When he pulled away, Eddie only burst into a fit of giggles, his cheeks warm and flushed, and his eyes sleepy. “Man,” he breathed, “mom’s gonna fucking kill me.” But he cuddled back up into Richie’s side anyway.

When they woke up the next morning, the window was still open, and they hadn’t managed to even pull a blanket over themselves. It was chilly, but it was a sticky kind of cool that kept you warm enough. Eddie was the first one to sit up. He ran a hand through his hair and looked down at Richie’s disheveled presence, hair out of place and glasses falling off.

“Aw, man.” Maybe he remembered, he realized what happened, and now he was pissed. “That’s fucking gross.” 

Richie sat up immediately. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry.” Because they kissed last night, kissed a lot, and Eddie hated him now, and it had to be Richie’s fault. It had to be because he’s the fag, right?

Eddie only narrowed his eyes. “The fuck are you talking about, Rich?” He brought a lazy finger to Richie’s chest and pointed at the wet spot on his t-shirt. “I was drooling last night.”

“Oh,” Richie nodded. “So…you don’t remember—”

“Yeah, Richie. Of course I remember your tongue down my throat. How could I not remember? I need to go scrub my tonsils now.” Eddie rubbed a hand over his face. “God, I feel disgusting.” He stood with a stretch. “I need a shower.” Eddie kept rambling and rambling, but all Richie could hear was the same  _ God, I feel disgusting _ and  _ I need to go scrub myself _ .

Eddie hated him. Richie could feel it. Panic began to sink in again, he didn’t have the weed to distract him anymore. They made a mistake,  _ Richie _ made a mistake, and it was going to cost him this time. “Uhm…” his words stuck in his throat. “Eddie, I— Can we just talk about this before you get mad at me?”

He stopped at the door, and his shoulders slumped forward. Richie couldn’t deal with Eddie hating him. He couldn’t. Eddie turned back around and slowly made his way back to take a seat next to Richie. This wasn’t right, they didn’t do this, they didn’t  _ talk _ . “Richie,” Eddie started, and it took him by surprise, “I’m not  _ mad _ at you.” Eddie tucked his legs up on the bed.

“So…so why are—”

“I don’t regret it. And I meant what I said.” He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “You can be annoying as hell, but I still think you’re cute…” Richie had to be dreaming, he had to be, because in all the outcomes he could have thought of for this scenario, Richie never thought Eddie would actually be into him. “You gonna say something, or are you just going to sit there?”

“Actually, I think that your exact words were that I’m ‘literally the cutest ever’,” Richie allowed himself to smile just a little bit, covering up any emotion with humor was his absolute specialty.

“God, you’re such a fucking asshole,” Eddie laughed just barely. “I’d like to correct myself. I’m not mad because you kissed me, but I am mad because your dried spit is still on my chin.”

“Is that it? Is that why you’re mad?” A grin snuck onto his lips, growing and growing.

“Yes, Richie! That’s why!” They both laughed, and it felt good. It felt  _ close _ .

“So…what’s gonna happen now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Between us.”

Eddie let his tongue jut out along his bottom lip, and then he stuttered, “I thought that was obvious.”

“Is it, Eddie? You don’t want time to think or to—”

“Richie, I’ve been thinking for over a  _ year _ now. I don’t want to think anymore.”

“ _ A year _ ? You’ve been into me for that long? What changed? I mean, we’ve been friends for so long, what happened a year ago that made things change?”

“Well, how long has it been for  _ you _ ?” Defensive, that’s how they got when they tried their hand at conversation that wasn’t cracking jokes at one another. It’s always been that way.

“Like, forever?” Richie shook his head. 

“And you haven’t  _ said _ anything?”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Eddie. Come on, what changed for you?”

“Ugh, God!” He ran his hands through his hair. It made his gentle curls brush out and frizz straight up. “Okay, so do you remember the last week of our sophomore year? We went to the arcade and everyone went to go get something to eat, but you wanted to play one last round of  _ Street Fighter _ , so I stayed and I played with you. And after we finished our third game or something stupid like that, everyone else was still eating, so you said we should go take a few pictures in the photo booth. So we did, and you hugged me, which sounds really stupid, but I’d been thinking about it for a while and that just sorta locked me in. 

“God, this is fucking ridiculous. You just…you never initiate like that, y’know? It’s usually me, but you just…hugged me, and it was just really nice. And then the next week you kissed me, and I— I freaked out. And now that I know how you feel, I’m sorry…about all that. I shouldn’t have run away then, and I shouldn’t have run away a couple days ago.” Eddie turned so he was facing Richie now. He reached a careful hand out to take Richie’s in both of his. He swept a light finger over the lines on Richie’s palm. “You were my first kiss, you know?”

“Yeah?” Richie bit into his bottom lip to keep from smiling too much. “You were mine too.” He wouldn’t have ever described himself as someone who’s shy, but right now he felt like he was on fire, burning from all things pent up that he didn’t yet have the courage to let out.

“So are we on the same page, Richie?”

Richie liked it a lot better when they didn’t have to talk about the hard stuff. He wished Eddie would just keep telling him about video games and how them hugging made him happy. “What page are you on exactly?”

“Do I have to spell it out, Rich?” he scoffed. “I’m on the page of wanting to be with you.”

“Really?”

“Richie, fuck!  _ Yes _ ! Why is that so hard to believe?” He squeezed Richie’s hand between his own.

“I don’t think you understand how surreal this feels, Eds. If you’re fucking with me, I think I’d probably die. So if this is some cruel joke, you better—”

“I’m not fucking with you. I promise, cross my heart and hope to die.” He drew an  _ X _ over his chest with a finger. 

Richie thought for a moment and then smirked. “Prove it.” Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Prove it and kiss me when you’re not high, and I’m not drunk.”

Eddie groaned. “Rich, you’re gonna fucking kill me… You literally haven’t brushed your teeth in over twenty four hours. And neither have I which is kinda making me nauseous.”

“S’ghetti, I’ve been waiting my whole life for this and you’re going to deny me a kiss because of a little overnight pot breath?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, I am.” He stood and quickly pressed his lips to Richie’s forehead. “ _ Please _ let me go take a shower, and then we can kiss all you want.”

“If you try to sneak out my bathroom window, I’ll never talk to you ever again.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I’ll be back in ten minutes, promise.” And he was, but those ten minutes were the most excruciating of his entire life. He still couldn’t believe that Bev was right about all this, he was going to have to tell her everything even if all he’d get in return was a “told ya so, idiot.” Eddie rummaged through his drawers, holding his towel tight around his waist. “I’m taking your clothes.”

“Go for it.”

It was nearly one in the afternoon after they’d gotten settled again. Eddie slid into a pair of Richie’s boxers and a t-shirt that was three sizes too big for him, and Richie told him about ten different times that day how cute he looked. Went was at work, and Maggie was off doing god knows what, so Eddie walked around freely in Richie’s clothes, and Richie didn’t have to stop himself from looking at Eddie like he was the absolute universe. 

  
  



	3. Clowns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> r and e are dramatic as fuck, not crazy about this chapter tbh, I think I had it in my head too much that I was writing ff and some things came out a little cliche but here we goo.
> 
> hc that eddie fucking loves the pretenders, featured song in this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ZeRy-r7Hzc
> 
> CWs:  
> underage drinking (okay honestly, this is pretty routine for this story), more slurs (I genuinely did not realize how much I used this word while writing, I think I was very angry), lots of references to Stonewall (the event, not the place), richie makes a careless joke about prescription drug reliance, anxiety, panic/anxiety attacks, I don’t like how many times I say the word boner

The middle of the week rolled around quickly. Summer was officially here, and the scheduleless days began to blend together into one big lump of months without school. All seven of them sat in their little bunker. They tended to only ever use it during summer break now. Richie sat in one of the plastic lawn chairs across the room from Eddie, who lay sprawled out on the hammock. The two of them seemed to be more distant now than ever, which sucked, but it was only in public or around their friends that they had to pretend like nothing ever happened. They both agreed that they’d wait to tell anyone.

Eddie was going through a stack of Marvel comics on the floor, picking one up and throwing it to the side when he got bored with it before reaching for another.  _ There’s no way Professor X and Magneto are straight though. _ Richie remembered what Eddie had said just last week.  _ Honestly, fuck it, yeah they’re probably all gay. _ It made him smile now, made him laugh to himself, because it was cute how much Eddie didn’t care. And if Richie was being honest, he’d expect everyone to think that he would be the one to say  _ fuck it _ while Eddie would be the one worried about every minute detail of their interactions. In reality, it was the opposite. Eddie had always been the brave one, touching and hugging whether someone was looking or not. Richie had always been too self conscious, but maybe Eddie was just too naive.

“What’s so funny, Tozier?” Bev kicked his ankle from her spot next to him. 

“Nothing.” He shook his head, but that wouldn’t have ever been enough for her to be satisfied. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Secrets, secrets,” Stan taunted him, waving a scolding finger in his direction.

“Fine, Stan,” Richie chided, “if you really wanna know, I fucked your mom.”

Bev snorted out a fake laugh, and Stan rolled his eyes. “Y’know, Rich, after five years, it’s not really that funny anymore.”

“It wasn’t even funny five years ago,” Bill grunted under his breath. 

“Really? ‘Cause Bev laughed.”

“Only did it to boost your ego.”

“He doesn’t need his ego boosted!” Mike joined.

“Come on,” Ben added, “he’s not  _ that _ bad!”

“Jee, thanks, Benny. And here I thought you were supposed to be the nice one.”

“Probably just did it ‘cause she likes him,” Eddie quipped, not even looking up from his comic as he wiggled his eyebrows. 

“See, Richie!” Stan stood in an attempt to make some grand gesture. “Now  _ that’s _ how you tell a funny joke!”

They all laughed, even Richie. Stan acted like he loathed Richie, and while it was true that they were basically oil and water, the same could probably be said about Richie and Eddie—and they were obviously getting along just fine. He knew Stan didn’t hate him, just like he knew he could be the biggest pain in the ass sometimes. 

“We should go to the festival this year,” Ben offered after a round of beer got passed through the room. “The fourth falls on a Saturday.”

Beverly turned around in her chair to look at him with a careful smile and big doe eyes. “That sounds like fun.” And she called him obvious. 

Richie wished he could take Eddie to the festival, he had wanted that for years now. He wished he could buy him popcorn and cotton candy and hold his sticky hand on the ferris wheel. If Richie was lucky, he’d get a kiss while they got stuck at the top. And then he’d torture Eddie a little and make him go on rides like the Zipper and the Gravitron. He was pretty sure that Derry’s annual carnival didn’t have a Tunnel of Love, but if it did, there wouldn’t even be a question as to whether or not Richie would’ve taken full advantage of that.

Now that he and Eddie were, well,  _ seeing each other _ , they still couldn’t do any of that. Maybe they could still do some of it, but it wouldn’t be as fun because Richie wouldn’t be able to hold Eddie’s hand or kiss him at the top of the ferris wheel. 

He glanced over at Eddie, who had given up on his comics and instead opted for laying on his side to watch Richie. He smiled when he caught Richie’s eyes and gave a little wink. Richie sunk his teeth into his bottom lip and averted his gaze to anything but Eddie. It started to get hot down here again, even though the sun had already set. He could still feel Eddie’s eyes on him, wished he could just get up and go sit with him, hug him and hold him. Richie stood and fluffed his hair off the back of his neck. “Going up to get some air,” he mumbled, then gave Eddie a look that said,  _ don’t you dare look so excited when you follow me out there _ .

He ascended the half ladder and pulled himself up into the grass, and as soon as he stood to make his way further from the entrance, he heard Eddie stand. “Alrighty! Guess that’s my cue.” 

Richie had to keep himself from smacking a hand over his face, but when Eddie popped out of the open hatch door, he couldn’t help but smile. “Really?” he whispered. “I told you  _ not _ to be obvious, and you did the exact opposite.”

“I don’t recall any such thing, Rich.” He stood and grabbed Richie’s hand, pulling him farther and farther away from the bunker-turned-clubhouse. “I only remember you saying you were gonna leave and then giving me a  _ very _ conspicuous look. So if anyone was being obvious, it was  _ you _ .” Eddie poked him in the chest as he spoke. 

“I gave you a  _ look _ to tell you not to be obvious!”

“Oh well.” Eddie let go of Richie’s hand when he felt they were far enough and wrapped his arms around his waist, tentative, looking at Richie for permission first. “It’s not like they’d care anyway.” He nuzzled into Richie’s chest as if instinctually, pulling himself away a moment later like he’d done something wrong. It lit a fire in the pit of Richie’s stomach, and he still couldn’t believe he was getting Eddie like this.

“You don’t know that though, Eds.” He snaked his own arms around Eddie’s shoulders, careful at first, same as Eddie, then holding on tight. 

“ _ Richie _ , they probably already know.”

“Well, I know Bev knows, and she doesn’t give a shit, but she’s a girl. I dunno, guys can get weird about this kinda shit.”

“Bev knows?” Eddie picked his head up and rested his chin against Richie’s sternum. “You told her?”

“No, no! I mean, I told her before anything even happened between us that…y’know…and she kinda just guessed that we liked each other. I told her that she was crazy, thinking a cutie like you could ever be into someone like me.”

Eddie chewed on his bottom lip. “Well she was right.” Then he reached up to press his lips to the column of Richie’s neck quickly before settling back down.  _ Brave _ , Richie thought.

“Eds?”

He only hummed in response.

“Eds, I uh, I wanna go to the festival with you.” He was shaky and sweaty, and he’d come to terms with the fact that he absolutely loathed feeling anxious and nervous, hoped Eddie couldn’t feel how he was feeling. 

“Yeah, Richie, we can go together.”

“No,” he choked on the word. “I mean, I wanna  _ take _ you. I wanna go with you as my date.”

“How cute,” Eddie giggled. “Yeah, of course I want that too.”

“But,” he hesitated, took a deep breath, “we  _ can’t _ .” Eddie didn’t respond, only ran his hands over Richie’s back, dancing soft fingertips over his thin t-shirt. “What are you thinking, Eds?”

He took a deep breath and on the exhale, mumbled, “I’m thinking I just want you to be quiet.” Richie knew he talked too much sometimes, and it was rarely ever anything good or meaningful, he usually just spewed nonsense until someone told him to shut up. 

Eventually they sat in the grass facing each other, reminiscent of the time they first kissed, a stupid, drunken mistake that Richie thought might as well have cost him his life. Eddie picked absently at one blade of grass at a time. He still wore his shorts, but he’d upgraded to denim from the running shorts he usually liked. Ironically, Eddie couldn’t run, convincing Richie even more of his little theory that Eddie just liked to tease him. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” His heartbeat became just slightly more tangible in his chest, the gentle thud against the inside of his chest increasing little by little.

“And don’t be an asshole about it. I just wanna know.”

“Spit it out, Eds.”

“Why don’t you wanna tell anyone?” His words came out in one long mumble.

“Eddie, it's not that I don’t  _ want _ to tell anyone! I’ve been waiting literally my whole life for you to like me back. Do you even know what I’d give to be able to show you off? Hold your hand? Kiss you goodbye at your front door? We just  _ can’t _ .”

“Okay, well then why  _ can’t _ we?” He threw a handful of grass in Richie’s direction. It only fluttered through the air before landing softly in the folds of his shirt.

Richie let out a little frustrated grunt. “Eds, it’s just not gonna happen. Bowers calls me a fag for shits and fucking giggles, but he doesn’t actually know that _I’m_ _gay_.” He hesitated because he never said that out loud before, and he fought the urge to look over his shoulder to make sure nobody was listening in. “And the guy still wants to beat the shit out of me! Do you know what he’d do if he actually knew, Eddie? Do you know what your _mom_ would say, what _she’d_ do if she found out?” He took a deep breath, and Eddie was quiet. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, you asked me not to be an asshole about this, but I am. That was a shitty thing to say. 

“Listen, I don’t want to scare you, but people suck, Eds. And if we tell one person, then we might as well be telling everyone in this damn town. I bet a lot more people than you’d think would start acting like Bowers when push comes to shove, and I don’t want to subject you to that.”

“Fuck you, Richie.”

“What?” He heard his voice crack in just the single word.

“You act like it’s your  _ fault _ , like you’re  _ guilty _ for me liking you. Maybe some people are shitty, Rich, but you’re not one of them, so stop blaming yourself like you fucking  _ converted _ me or something because that’s bullshit. I like you because I like you, not because you manipulated me into liking you or whatever the fuck you’re thinking.”

“That’s not—” he started, but stopped himself because it was, that was exactly how he felt. Richie wanted to protect Eddie, to hide him so he never had to deal with anyone calling him slurs or getting punched or kicked because someone didn’t like who’s hand he was holding. “I don’t  _ want _ you to be scared, Eddie, but…why aren’t you? How aren’t you?”

“Richie, of course I’m  _ scared _ ,” he nearly laughed as he said it, throwing his hands in the air. “But we don’t have to stand on Main Street and scream for everyone to hear. Not right now anyway. I just…don’t want to  _ hide _ it from all our friends, that’s all. I want to be able to sit on that hammock like we used to and hold your hand and kiss you even when our friends are around, y’know? They’re chill, they’re our friends for a reason. Like you said, Bev knows and she doesn’t give a shit. And we’ve known Bill and Stan since we were like  _ five _ for fuck’s sake!”

“And if someone like Bowers finds out? What happens then?”

Eddie thought for a moment. “Do you remember when we found those shitheads beating up Mike?”

“Yeah, of course. We started chucking rocks at the fuckers until they ran.”

“Fuck yeah, we did! And that was almost  _ three _ years ago. You’re like, a whole foot taller now, and by next year Bowers’ll probably have a beer gut!” Eddie grabbed for Richie’s hand. “He’s the real loser, Richie. I promise. But in order to have our friends stick behind us the way we stuck behind Mike, then we have to tell them. Maybe not right now, but eventually. And we can’t be scared.”

“Not even a little?”

“Maybe just a little, but you can’t let Bowers know that. You just gotta keep chucking rocks until you have enough rock chuckers behind you to make all the Bowerses in this world fuck off.”

Richie couldn’t help but laugh. He’d bet money that Eddie would be the one to start throwing bricks. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.” Eddie tugged at Richie’s fingers. “Now promise me you’ll take me to that stupid festival.”

“Eds…”

“We don’t have to make it obvious, but I want it to count as our first date.”

Richie hesitated only for a moment. “Fine.”

“You promise? No ignoring me  _ at all  _ that night!”

“I promise! I promise!”

“Good.” Eddie crawled into Richie’s lap, but that only accomplished them both falling over into the grass. Richie laughed as he draped his arms over Eddie’s waist. “No ignoring me at all anymore ever, okay? Except maybe in front of my mom.”

“Aye aye, Mister Spaghetti.”

“Hey, Richie?”

“Mm?”

“I know that we fuck around a lot, like  _ a lot _ , but I’m glad that we can talk.”

“Wow, Eds.” He coughed out a laugh. “That’s, uh, pretty gay.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m serious.” He paused, and it was quiet as his head rested with a gentle thud against Richie’s shoulder. “Please, don’t be afraid to talk to me.”

~*~

Saturday came along faster than Richie would’ve liked it too. During the week, he and Eddie spent a lot of time together, just the two of them, even more than usual. In fact they probably spent more time together than what was healthy, but after years of holding back feelings, they didn’t want to waste anymore time. Right now, Richie had Eddie boxed in lying on his back, one arm propped Richie up and the other wrapped around Eddie. He kissed Eddie over and over until their lips were swollen and numb. Practice makes perfect, he told himself.

“Richard!” Maggie called from down in the kitchen.

“Fuck,” he rolled over onto his back. “I didn’t even know Mags was home.”

“Richard! Your friends are here!”

He grabbed his glasses and glanced up at the clock in his room. Already seven on the dot. “Huh, no shit.” He sat up and pulled Eddie along, but he slipped his wrist out Richie’s fingers to check himself over in the mirror. “You look fine, Eds.”

“Just fine?” He played with one of his curls that just wasn’t sitting right, spun it on his finger until it bounced into a different but not at all better direction.

“Eddie Spaghetti, you look fine as hell. Now, let’s go.”

He pursed his lips at himself in the mirror before straightening out his shirt and pulling at Richie’s neck to give him one final kiss for the night. They agreed on just going back to the way things were when they were around their friend, no staying six feet apart or only talking to each other when it was part of a larger group conversation. 

Richie swung an arm over Eddie’s shoulders when they made it down the stairs.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me, Hon? Who’s your friend?” Maggie sat at the kitchen table with a glass of wine, a magazine, and a tv dinner. 

“Had one too many glasses, Mags? It’s just Eddie, Eddie Kaspbrak. You’ve met him thousands of times. You know, the little guy? Asthmatic? Pill popper?” Eddie threw Richie's arm off of him before punching his shoulder. “Ow, fuck.”

“Oh, Eddie! My apologies, Dear. I haven’t seen you in ages, you’ve grown.”

“ _ Pft _ , barely,” Richie grumbled under his breath, and Eddie jabbed him in the side, not nearly as hard. “We gotta go, Mags.” He pushed Eddie out the door, stumbling over the front steps. 

“What took so damn long, Tozier?”

“Stan the Man! Sorry, Eddie wouldn’t stop checking himself out in the mirror.”

“Asshole.” Eddie wiggled his way out from Richie's grasp. “I swear I wasn’t, Stan.”

“Well, I don’t really care, but you two were last on the pick up list, so you get the back.” He leaned through the passenger window to grab the keys from Bill, he was the only one who actually had a car, so anytime they went out, all seven had to pack into the tiny Volkswagen hatchback. It had to be at least ten years old, and two lucky souls got to sit in the trunk every time. More often than not, they liked to shove Richie back there. He never minded when it was with Eddie, even if he had to sit hunched over the entire time. 

Eddie stretched out after Stan locked them in, and he unzipped the little pocket that tied around his hips. He began to unpack it one item at a time, making sure everything was there. Richie watched him. It pissed him off, made him anxious. “You know you don’t need any of that.”

He started to put everything back, first all of the old pill containers, still filled to the brim with sugar pills, and then his inhaler. Bill turned the music up way too loud, and Richie hoped that meant nobody could hear them. He thought it might be U2, but he didn’t listen to any of that half assed pop rock shit that Bill and Stan liked so much, so he wasn’t sure.

“We’ve been over this. They’re just placebos, Eds.” He reached out to play with the frayed hem of Eddie’s shorts. It was just a nervous habit, but he somehow hoped that Eddie found any semblance of comfort in it.

“I know.” Eddie zipped it back up. “But they make me feel safe.”

“From what?”

“Y’know, just in case.”

“Just in case what?” He sighed, not that Eddie could hear, and maneuvered his way over to sit next to him. Richie tucked his arm over Eddie’s shoulders again and pulled him in. “You don’t need any of that shit. I promise. You have me to make you feel safe.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Richie, you might be a fucking giant, but you’re the biggest baby I know.”

Bill pulled the keys out of the ignition, and the music cut short. Stan pulled his seat forward to let out Bev, Ben, and Mike from the back seat, and he made a passing remark about leaving Richie and Eddie in the trunk. Bill told Stan to stop being an ass and opened up the back. Eddie jumped out first, and then Richie attempted to climb out without hitting his head, failing painfully. “Hey, isn’t that Hockstetter’s c...c...c—  _ fuck _ . You know what I mean.” Bill only ever stuttered anymore when his nerves got the better of him. 

Richie glanced over at the bright blue Pontiac. “Thing’s ugly as fuck. Don’t worry, Billie.” He clapped a hand down on Bill’s shoulder. “It’s seven of us against four of them, if they were even smart enough to come all together. Which, y’know, team Bowers isn’t exactly known for their brains so…” He shrugged, and Bill closed up the trunk. 

“Yeah, sure. You’re right.” He tripped a little on his r’s this time. “They just always manage to r...r—  _ fuck everything up _ .”

“Hey, at least our senior year will be shithead free, right?” They caught up to the rest of the group, and Richie slung his arm around Eddie again. He used to do it because it pissed Eddie off, got him flustered, but now he liked it because it told everyone else that Eddie was his. Even if it wasn’t a sure fire shot of  _ oh yeah, they’re together _ , it still kept anyone else from coming up to either of them. Think about it, imagine the sheer audacity one must have to approach anybody who's got an arm around them. The two of them might as well have worn a sign that said,  _ fuck off, don’t bother us _ , and Richie had to admit, it felt pretty damn good.

“You’re getting pretty ballsy, Tozier.” Eddie spoke quietly enough. They weren’t walking directly next to everyone else anyway. “What happened to not making it so obvious, huh?”

“Dunno what you’re talking about, we used to do this all the time.”

“ _ Mm _ … Okay, okay.” They stood on line for tickets as Eddie scanned the fair, sized it up, picked out everything he wanted to do immediately and passed over all the shit he knew he wanted to stay away from. “Will you win me a big teddy bear tonight, Richie? Or is that too  _ obvious _ ?”

“Well, you see, when you make it sound like a damn challenge, nothing’s off limits, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Good, I’d do it myself but those games are one big germ fest.”

“So you’re just going to let  _ me _ get sick from clown germs then, huh?”

“That’s the plan. Then I have a reason to not see you for a whole week.”

Richie let his hand slide down Eddie’s back and squeezed his side before pulling away. Eddie let out the tiniest squeal as Richie pulled a couple of bills out of the front pocket in his jeans. “How many tickets do we want, Spaghetti? I got thirty bucks on me.”

Eddie unzipped the front pocket of his fanny pack to pull out two tens, giving Richie a look that said exactly:  _ see, it does come in handy _ . “I got twenty.”

Richie held his hand out. “Gimme ten, Eddie-o Spaghettio.” He put in a twenty himself and asked for forty tickets. Bev yelled at them to hurry as she ran to catch up with everyone waiting in line at the Gravitron. Richie grabbed their tickets from the concession and pulled Eddie along. He didn’t think he would be so excited about this little trip to Derry’s annual shit show, but he was genuinely happy right now. Not to shit on any of his other friends, but he thought that probably had something to do with Eddie.

They all stood next in the line as the replica spaceship began to spin. “Richie, I dunno about this.” Eddie stared up at it wide eyed as it reached its peak speed, flashing lights and loud sounds only adding to the ambiance. 

“Eds, I know you. You’re gonna get on there and start freaking out, but then you’re gonna get off and gonna want to go three more times. This happens every year with a different ride.”

“I just dunno.”

“Want me to hold your hand, baby?” And to be clear, Richie was calling Eddie a baby because he was scared, not because he was absolutely adorable and small, and Richie did not under any circumstances want to scoop him up and carry him back home.

Eddie glanced over at their friends sucked into their own conversation, laughing and  _ oohing _ and  _ ahhing _ as they pointed out different rides and games. He took a deep breath and looked down at his feet as he grabbed onto the hem of Richie’s t-shirt gingerly. He twirled a loose string between his finger and his thumb. “Promise?” he mumbled.

“What was that, Eds?” Richie heard him, and Eddie knew Richie heard him.

He pursed his lips and tugged a little on Richie’s shirt. “I said,  _ promise _ ?”

Richie smiled, and when it was their turn to get on and find their spots, he reached out to take Eddie’s hand away from fiddling with anything and everything and weaved their fingers together. He told himself that this was okay, that nobody would look at them weird or get suspicious because they had a reason to hold hands. To all the onlookers, they weren’t holding hands because they were into each other but because Eddie was scared and Richie was a good friend. “Just squeeze my hand if you need to.”

The ship began to turn, and they both held onto each other a little bit tighter. It was perfectly nauseating, a ride like this, just enough to make you  _ want _ to throw up, but never enough to make you  _ actually _ throw up. And as suspected, Eddie got off the ride all smiles and giggles because he had a great time just like Richie told him he would. “What’s next?” Eddie looked fiendishly around the park because now he was all hyped up. All he needed was to get his heart beat pumping just a little more than usual, and Eddie turned into a totally different person. 

“I say we go get fucked up on the Zipper and then make a run for the fun house,” Bev pointed at each attraction as she named them. “It’s great because you’re already dizzy as hell from getting shit whipped up and down and all around, and then you try and get into the fun house on that little spinny tunnel. I’m telling ya, it’s a real trip.”

“Huh,” Eddie nodded. “I like the way your mind works, Bev.”

They all made their way over to their next line to wait in. “Alright, everyone!” Bev clapped her hands together, gathering their attention. “The Zipper is a ride for  _ pairs _ . That means only two of us will be getting on at a time, so don’t wait for the rest to get off or the plan turns to shit. We’ll meet up again after the fun house, got it?” Everyone nodded. “Also! There’s seven of us, and that means one of us has to ride solo. I will volunteer for this endeavor as it takes great bravery.” She took a slight bow before handing over her tickets. “Remember!” She took a seat in one of the hanging carts. “Meet up  _ after _ the fun house!”

Richie snorted. “Marsh is a whole different type of psycho, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” Ben scoffed, but it came out as completely and utterly endeared, no trace of mock in him, like only Ben could.

When Richie and Eddie got on, Richie had to practically force Eddie’s hands onto the handle bar. “ _ Germs _ , Richie!” he’d fought.

“Would you rather get a concussion, Eds?”

It was a ridiculous contraption, and Richie didn’t understand how more people didn’t die on these things—gum and duct tape, was that the saying?

Richie had a hard time getting off the ride and getting through the damn tunnel that Bev was talking about. He blamed his freakishly long legs, but Eddie pulled him along anyway, laughing the whole time. Richie only tripped up about five different times in the five feet of passage way into the fun house. He wasn’t used to this, getting his brains pinwheeled was a once a year thing for them, and last year they didn’t even go. It messed up the flow, the regular irregularity of pushing his body to its limits.

Eddie pulled Richie along through the maze of mirrors, and Richie was shocked at how willingly he pressed his hand out in front of him, oftentimes coming palm to palm with himself. If he got sick after this, Richie would be the one to hear it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care because Eddie was actually having fun, smiling, laughing, turning around to glance ever so briefly at Richie and giggle, “This way!” When they reached the upper level, they made it through a jungle of uhm,  _ punching bags _ , Richie would call them, with weird, poorly painted clown faces on them. At the end of the room was a slide, their one way ticket out. 

“Ladies first, Spaghetti.”

“Asshole.” Eddie laughed as he said it, pushing at Richie’s chest. He looked up at Richie, not moving his fingers from their spot in Richie’s shirt. “Can I kiss you, Richie?” he asked softly. “Just one kiss. Please?”

Richie turned towards the entrance of the clown room, and he felt the nerves slowly crawl up his legs, scratching and piercing the skin there. People ran around in the lower level, he could hear them, smacking into glass and laughing about it. One kid started to cry. “Eddie, you know we spent like three whole hours just kissing before coming here? You’re not all kissed out?”

“I’m just… _ really _ happy right now, Richie.” Eddie looked scared though, nervous, kind of like when they were waiting in line for the Gravitron. 

Richie felt like he just got off it though: perfectly nauseous, just enough to make you  _ want _ to throw up, but never enough to make you  _ actually _ throw up. Except Richie really thought he might. “Eds, I—”

The screams and laughter of children stomped their way up to the second floor, and Eddie turned around. “Nevermind, Rich.”

He had a feeling he just fucked up, but he couldn’t help it. He was like Eddie when it came to germs, except his fear was a hell of a lot more rational. At least he thought it was, it felt more real. And sure, in a way, maybe Richie’s fear was more reasonable, but that still wasn’t fair to Eddie, not fair to him because he deserved to be scared too, scared of his own fears, and not fair to him because Richie’s fear affected Eddie directly, and not fair for probably a million other reasons that Richie was too freaked out to think about right then.

Richie met him at the bottom of the slide, and neither Eddie or Bev gave him a passing glance as they continued their conversation. Maybe Richie was looking too much into this, because he was king of overthinking, but something about the whole thing wasn’t sitting right with him.

As they waited for Bill and Stan, and Mike and Ben, Eddie still didn’t talk to him, and Richie didn’t understand because they had  _ agreed _ . They agreed that this was the best course of action, to not be all coupley in public and around their friends, at least for now. Richie could feel the pressure rising in his body, from his stomach all the way to his head as he thought of how to make things right when he wasn’t even sure how he messed up in the first place. 

Bill was the last to slide down. “We should get some games in.”

Eddie kept his distance, walking in front of Richie with Bev, Ben, and Mike. He would win that stupid teddy bear for him, he hoped that’s how he could make this right. Ben and Bev seemed to be hitting it off, joking and laughing together. Eddie and Mike hopped into the conversation on occasion. Bill and Stan seemed awfully cozy as well, and Richie thought that he actually saw Stan not only smile but laugh genuinely at something Bill said. It hadn’t even been five minutes though, and Richie already missed Eddie.

They all took a seat at the water guns, everyone except for Eddie who stood precariously behind Bev. They all handed over their tickets, and Richie got settled in, cracked his fingers and positioned the nozzle just right. The buzzer went off, and he really thought he had this, but Mike stood triumphant all the way to his left. “One more round, guys!” Richie rallied them back in. “Just one more!” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Eddie shaking his head at him, but they all agreed to one more round because none of them took to losing well. 

The buzzer sounded again, and this time Richie knew he’d won. The winning bell sounded over his own target as he spun around on his chair, arms thrown in the air. He was disappointed to say the least when the guy working the game handed him a little pink puppy.

“Hey, I can’t get one of those teddy bears up there?” He pointed to exactly the one he wanted.

The guy only shrugged. “Sure ya can, just gotta win two more times.”

“Aw, fuck that! What a load of shit.”

The guy only shrugged again. “Those are the rules, kid.”

He turned to Bev. “I’ll pay you to play me again.”

“Sure,” she chuckled, “but I’m not going easy on you.”

“Richie, stop,” it was Eddie this time, he stood with his arms crossed. “You’re being an idiot.”

“But it’s not a teddy bear.” He pointed to the stupid puppy, slumped over in his seat, back hunched and long legs sprawled on in front of him. Richie knew his nerves were getting the better of him, he knew he was overreacting, but this was the only thing he could think of to get Eddie smiling again. His brain was hyperfixated on only that. “You said you wanted a teddy bear.”

“I don’t  _ care _ .” Richie felt like everyone was looking and listening now, but Eddie kept going, grabbing the stuffed dog. “I want this puppy now. It’s too late, I love it already. So don’t—” Eddie cut himself off and took a deep breath. His lips twitched into a brief smile before pursing them together into a thin line again. “ _ Okay _ . Uhm…let’s go get food before the fireworks, I guess.” Eddie turned on his heels quickly to head toward the concessions. Another game was already in play in the abandoned seats around Richie.

Bill scoffed, “Something going on that we don’t know about?”

“No, nothing’s going on.” Richie stood and followed after Eddie. “Come on, are we going or not?” He was thoroughly pissed now because Eddie was really mad, he could tell. He was trying not to show it, but Richie knew. It made him… _ upset _ more than angry, and frustrated. And thinking about being all those at once was overwhelming, the kind of overwhelming where all you wanna do is just shut down, grab a beer, and pass the fuck out.

It was quiet when they waited in line for food, and Richie hated it because he knew it was because of him. Everyone was probably thinking about it, thinking about Richie and Eddie, and that only made the queasy feeling in his stomach scratch harder at his insides. 

Eventually Eddie unzipped the front of his bag and pulled out the last of his money. “Here,” he nearly whispered, holding it out to Richie in one hand and the puppy close to his chest with the other. “I’m just gonna go sit down. Get me whatever.” And there he was again, walking away while Richie just stood there completely dumbfounded. He was ready to pull his hair out, felt the twitch in his eye, the itching at his scalp.

Bev hurried to throw some of her own money at Richie. “Just get double of whatever you’re getting, Rich.” Then she hurried after Eddie. 

“Damn, Richie, what’d you do this time?”

“Fuck off, Stan.”

“That bad, huh?”

When they all made it to the table that Bev and Eddie grabbed, Richie had his and Eddie’s food in toe as well as a tiny plastic cup meant for ketchup filled with hand sanitizer from the bathroom instead. There was an open seat next to Eddie, so he took it. “I got you fries and uhm, a hot dog. And I got some hand sanitizer because I didn’t see any before when you were looking through your bag, so…” He was quiet and calm. He didn’t  _ care _ anymore, he just wanted Eddie to smile again. “I also got some cotton candy…for later.” Eddie used to get cotton candy every year. It would always make his stomach hurt, but he would eat it anyway because he needed the once a year experience of tasting sweet and getting sticky.

He saw a genuine smile curl Eddie’s lips just for a moment as he reached for the sanitizer. “Thanks, Richie.” That stupid fucking puppy sat nestled between Eddie’s stomach and his fanny pack. It taunted him. 

A gentle blush tickled Eddie’s cheeks, and he was surprisingly less tense than before, slumped over the table, cheek smashing into his fist. “You alright, Eds?” Vague, Richie, keep it vague.

Eddie hummed, and Richie caught Bev taking a sip out of her flask. He told himself he wasn’t mad, he  _ wasn’t _ . He was just disappointed because nothing was going to get resolved tonight. Drunk Eddie was absolutely useless, and knowing Bev, she was carrying some heavy shit. Eddie barely ever even drank half a beer. 

At least he might be a little happier now, a little lighter.

As they wrapped up with their late dinner a voice came over the loudspeaker notifying everyone that the fireworks were going to start in fifteen minutes. Then music filtered back through the carnival. “Shit,” Eddie muttered. “Richie, I  _ love _ this song.” Carefully, he maneuvered his way out from the picnic bench. “Dance with me,  _ please _ ? Richie, you gotta, if you don’t you’re a bad friend.”

Richie turned around in his seat, back resting on the table so he faced Eddie. There was no way Richie was dancing if he didn’t have any of that liquid courage from Bev, there was just no way, not in front of practically the entire town. “Eds—” he began, but Bev stood in his place.

“Don’t worry, Eddie. I’ll dance with you.” She sent a wink Richie’s way, but he could tell neither of them were happy with the decision. 

Eddie ripped the puppy from its resting place at his hips and threw it at Richie. “Watch him, please.”

Richie sighed, he had a feeling he was making progress before with his hand sanitizer and cotton candy, but he’d definitely just taken ten more steps back. Eddie did seem like he was starting to have fun again though. He was smiling and the flush on his cheeks grew as he sang along to  _ The Pretenders _ . Eddie  _ did _ like this song, it’d always been one of his favorites, and Richie liked it because Eddie liked it.

_ Welcome to the human race  _

_ With its wars, disease and brutality.  _

_ You with your innocence and grace  _

_ Restore some pride and dignity  _

_ To a world in decline. _

_ Welcome to a special place  _

_ In a heart of stone that's cold and gray.  _

_ You with your angel face  _

_ Keep the despair at bay  _

_ Send it away… _

Richie watched as Eddie twirled around and kicked his legs and spun his arms and hips. He knew that Eddie wouldn’t have ever had the courage to dance himself if he hadn’t drunk whatever Bev gave him. Richie felt his own cheeks start to warm because Eddie laughed and giggled and sang, and every time he lifted up his arms, his shirt would ride up just a little, exposing his belly button. He was beautiful and kind and full of a certain kind of happiness, and Richie was realizing that he was just lucky to have Eddie.

_ Welcome here from outer space  _

_ The Milky Way is still in your eyes.  _

_ You found yourself a hopeless case  _

_ One that's seeking perfection on earth  _

_ That's some kind of rebirth, so…  _

_ Show me the meaning of the word,  _

_ Show me the meaning of the word  _

_ 'Cause I've heard so much about it.  _

When Eddie wasn’t tipsy anymore, they were going to have to talk, and that freaked Richie out a little because they never used to  _ talk _ and now that seems like all they ever do. It was worth it though, Richie told himself, Eddie was worth the entire world. Hearing him laugh and seeing him smile broke Richie’s heart just as much as it put him back together. 

Richie was pretty sure he had a heart boner for Eddie. “ _ Shit _ ,” he muttered, turning back around to face the others. He definitely wasn’t just feeling it in his heart. “Anyone know how to get rid of a boner without…you know?”  _ Humor, Richie. Be funny, Richie. Make them laugh, Richie, and it won’t matter. _

Stan seemed to be the only one paying attention though. “You’re actually disgusting, Tozier, you know that?” 

Just as he was about to retaliate, Eddie came back and plopped himself down right next to Richie. He was all smiles and giggles now as he threw an arm over Richie’s shoulders, Eddie’s fingers dancing over his neck and twirling individual curls in his hair. Richie pursed his lips, tensed, tried to think about literally anything but Eddie. Maybe if he punched himself it would go away. “ _ Welcome to a special place _ ,” Eddie giggled into his ear. “ _ You with your angel face _ .”

“Eds, come on.” Richie was really starting to sweat now.

Eddie grabbed the puppy back and pretended to make it dance on the table. “ _ I want love! Looove. _ ”

Richie’s heart really felt like it would have exploded if someone didn’t put an end to all this soon. He ran his hands over his face, took a deep breath, and looked up to see Stan eying him. He squinted at Richie, then glanced over at Eddie, and then he settled his eyes back on Richie. He snorted a little before he broke into the biggest grin. “Richie, are you — ”   
  
“Fuck off, Uris! It’s not fucking funny!”

Stan burst into a fit of laughter “It’s a little funny, Rich. You have a — ”

“Stan, I swear to fucking god! Shut the fuck up!”

“I can’t just forget, Richie. You know, I —”

“Stan,” he’d never felt so desperate in his life because really it wasn’t about the stupid fucking boner. Stan knew now, just like Bev knew, just like Eddie knew. “Please,  _ don’t _ .”

His smile faded as he chewed on his bottom lip, and then he just nodded, short and curt, looked away after that. Stan didn’t say another word, and Richie might’ve felt bad for shutting two of his friends down that night if he wasn’t already spiraling out of control himself. He felt like he needed Eddie’s inhaler. He ruined this whole night for everyone. He knew it. “I’ll be right back,” he said to nobody in particular as he stood, shakily climbing off the bench. His heart wouldn’t stop beating faster and faster and faster. Richie thought it might kill him, but he kept walking, hands fidgeting unsteadily at his sides and vision misting over as he tried his best to make out some open space. He couldn’t tell if he was about to pass out or cry. And when it all became too much, he just sat down in the grass, letting his head fall into his hands and trying to take deep breaths. It only seemed to overwhelm him even more.

“Hey.” A hand fell on his back. “Hey, Richie.” To his surprise, Stan had seated himself next to him. He felt like an idiot for running out, for overreacting, for throwing a tantrum and crying. He hated that Stan was watching him too, that Stan was just sitting there watching him cry, so he took his glasses off and wiped his face.

“What do you want, Uris?” he spoke between ragged breaths, struggling to get each word out. He was pathetic. He felt it and he bet he looked it too.

“Nothing, I guess.” He looked away as Richie put his glasses back on, his hand never leaving Richie’s back. Stan slumped forward though and set his chin on his fist, and they stayed like that for a long while until Richie finally started to act normal again. “I know…” Stan started with a deep, shaky breath, “that I can be like, a total asshole to you sometimes. But, you know, I only do it because I know you can handle it, or at least I thought you could… I just—” He held his breath, chewed his words over, and continued, “I’m sorry if I ever take it too far because I don’t mean to, but sometimes it just happens because I feel like that’s just the kind of relationship we have and it’d be weird to do anything else.”

“Yeah, Stan, you’re right this is pretty fucking weird.” Richie choked out a laugh, and Stan held back a smile. Then it was quiet again because it really was a little weird, but Richie appreciated it nonetheless.

“So…you okay?” He finally pulled his hand away.

“Yeah! Yeah. I’m fine. I dunno what that was…”

Stan hummed a little and looked down at his hands in his lap. “Uh, so you and Eddie, huh?”

Richie felt the panic rise up in his throat again, but he swallowed it back down as best he could. “Stan, I—”

“I don’t care! I mean, good for you, y’know? If you and Eddie are happy, then I’m happy for both of you.”

“It’s not…you don’t think it’s…weird?”

“Rich, you two haven’t been able to keep your hands off each other since eighth grade, I think it’d be more weird if this  _ didn’t _ happen.” He laughed just a little, albeit awkwardly, it made Richie laugh too. Richie took a look around, and somehow he’d managed to seat himself in the open field where everyone liked to sit to watch the fireworks. He also somehow managed to distance himself far away from anyone though.  _ Instincts _ , he thought and mentally patted himself on the back. Stan stood. “I think they’re starting to set up camp over there.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder, and Richie nodded. He didn’t want to have to face everyone after that, he thought it would be like it had been while waiting in line for food: quiet, with Richie in everyone’s heads. But when he and Stan rejoined the group, Bev made sure that conversation picked up. 

Richie sat down next to Eddie, who sat with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wound around his legs. He held the puppy tightly in one hand and his cotton candy in the other. “Are you cold?” Richie didn’t dare face him, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Eddie shrug, so he stood and untied the sweatshirt from his waist before taking a seat again. “Please wear it if you’re cold.”

Eddie took it and threw it over his head. The sleeves hung over his hands an obscene amount. “Can I tell you a secret, Richie?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Eddie moved in closer so their thighs touched, and he reached up with both hands to cup his mouth to Richie’s ear. “I’m sorry,” he whispered before pressing a gentle kiss to the bend of his jaw, and Richie felt like crying again. Eddie pulled away and moved back to his former position. 

“Why?”

“Because I got upset, and ignored you, and ruined the whole night.” They still didn’t look at each other. 

Richie shook his head. “Can I tell you a secret now, Eds?”

He hummed, “Mhm.”

He followed Eddie’s steps: moved in close, cupped his hands over Eddie’s ear, and whispered, “ _ I’m _ sorry,” before leaving him with a kiss. Except Richie didn’t move away, he stayed close, let their knees knock.

Eddie hesitated for a moment before he echoed, “Why?”

“Because I’m scared and an asshole, and I let that affect…everyone.”

Eddie hummed again, and the blush in his face hadn’t faltered. He rolled up the sleeves on his sweatshirt and set his hand dangerously close to Richie’s, pinkies brushing. Eddie looked to Richie for confirmation, and Richie closed his eyes, took one breath, then another, and then he took Eddie’s hand in his. “It feels a lot nicer if you relax, y’know?”

Richie opened his eyes, and Eddie was looking at him, had the dark hood pulled up over his golden curls. “Yeah,” Richie nodded. “You’re probably right.” And he tried with everything in him to push down his insecurities, to swallow all his fears.  _ Everyone will be watching the fireworks anyway _ , he told himself.  _ It’s dark, and even if it wasn’t, nobody’s looking at you. They don’t care.  _ Richie pretended they were in his room, just him and Eddie. He closed his eyes, laid back in the grass, and just pretended. Soon, he felt Eddie do the same. He was looking at Richie, and he could feel his even, warm huffs brush against the thin fabric covering his shoulder. 

Richie pulled their hands onto his stomach and held on a little tighter, telling himself that they’d be okay.

  
  



	4. The Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided I'm going to post a chapter a day until Part 1 is complete (this story comes in two parts--8 chs in part 1 and about 6 chs in part 2). Then I'm going to take a little break to finish up part 2 (writing and editing and all that good stuff, it's done for most part). Hope you all enjoy this chapter :) happy and safe reading everyone
> 
> featured song for this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gj6uGxrY6Cw
> 
> CWs:  
> anxiety, reference to hate crimes/queer violence, sonia being sonia, references to homophobia in the form of medicating queer people because they're queer

“Do you think we moved too fast?” Richie laid in his bed with Eddie curled up into his side. Two empty beer bottles sat on his bedside table, and it was only two instead of one and half because Richie drank Eddie’s leftover half. 

Eddie shrugged a little. “Maybe. But we’ve both been waiting for a long time…and it’s not like we just met each other, y’know? I think it’d be different then, but we’ve known each other for ages.” Eddie sat up, and he looked down at Richie with a furrow in his brow. “Can I tell you something? I don’t want you to get mad, but I want to tell you.”

“So tell me.”

Eddie hooked one of his fingers through a belt loop on Richie’s jeans, pursed his lips. “You won’t get mad?”

“I won’t know if you don’t tell me.” 

Eddie sighed. “I feel like you’re not ready for this.”   
  
“Eds, just tell me, I—”

“No! I mean, I feel like you’re not ready for  _ this _ , Richie!” He waved a hand between them.

Richie sat up now. “Eddie, you just got done saying how long we’ve both waited for this. There’s no way I’m _not_ _ready_ for this.”

“But Richie, you’re like…embarrassed of me—”

“That’s not true.”

“I know it’s not but that’s what it feels like!” He ran his hands over his face. “ _ Ugh _ ! It’s like, you don’t wanna hold my hand or kiss me or even  _ touch _ me when anyone else is around! And that sucks, Richie. That fucking  _ sucks _ so much because I care about you and I like it when you hug me and hold my hand, you little shit.”

Richie felt the ever familiar feeling of panic settling in his heart. It happened so often now that he was almost used to it, the same fuzzy, black out kind of feeling that he got at the festival before the fireworks. The worst part was that he couldn’t control it, so he got overwhelmed a lot easier and cried a lot more. It had been over a week now since it first happened, since the fiasco that was the Fourth of July. Eddie and Richie had basically gone back to normal after that, they were good at just going back to the way things were after a fight instead of working through it.

They both learned that that was a shitty way to be in a relationship though, that they’d eventually hit their boiling point and start telling each other to fuck off again except now they’d mean it.

“So what? You wanna break up?” Saying that out loud made Richie nauseous. It made the distress and irrationality ebb deeper and deeper inside of him.

“Christ, Richie, I dunno!” Eddie dragged his fingers through his hair before tugging. “No, I don’t  _ want _ to, but I want to actually be with you, Richie. I feel like we’re hiding…”

“Well, we kinda are, Eds. That’s the point.”

“That’s the  _ point _ ? Richie, the point is to fall in love with each other and to be happy and to have fun, not to  _ hide _ .”

“Well what’s the good of falling in fucking love if we’re dead, Eddie?” He screamed. He screamed at Eddie for real. He’d never done that before, and it made him feel even more sick.

“ _ What _ ? Richie, what the fuck?”

He watched Eddie’s eyes glass over, the first tears start to prick at those pretty pink corners. It set Richie over the edge because he did that. He made Eddie cry, and he didn’t mean to, but it happened. “I’m sorry,” his voice cracked horribly, and he felt his own eyes well up way too quickly. It was coming, he could feel it, the pounding in his chest, the pushing on his gut. “ _ Fuck _ .” He ripped his glasses off and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, hoping it would send the tears back where they came from.

“Richie,” Eddie sighed and rested a gentle hand on Richie’s thigh. “Come on, what’s wrong?”

He couldn’t breathe. “Just gimme a second, Eds…” Each sharp inhale cut at his words.

So Eddie slid himself next to Richie, and he scratched his fingers over his back, up and down and up and down. It seemed like hours, or at least to Richie it had, before he settled down and could finally take a deep breath again. “You okay, Rich?”

He shrugged as he sat back. “I dunno.” He didn’t know what was wrong with him, but he knew it wasn’t normal, and it was exhausting. “I think there’s something wrong with me.”

“Well we’ve known that,” Eddie snorted, got a chuckle out of Richie before shaking his head, “There’s nothing wrong with you, Richie. You can cry. It’s okay.”

“But it’s more than just crying. I’ve never felt anything like it before. It’s been happening more and more recently, and I can’t control it. It’s like all these pent up emotions just blow up in my face and I can’t do a single thing about it.”

Eddie didn’t say anything for a long while, just sat there with his hand on Richie’s knee, dragging his blunt fingernails over the denim there. Richie learned from a young age that he didn’t like the quiet. It was scary and overwhelming, so he talked and talked and everyone just thought he was annoying, but that was fine because it meant that he didn’t have to sit in the scary silence. But as he got older he learned that sometimes he should just shut up, that anything but silence wasn’t always the answer because it could piss people off real bad. “What kind of emotions?” Eddie spoke faintly.

Richie only looked at him, eyebrows knitted because it was probably a question pertaining to something he’d said, but his brain was too foggy, and he couldn’t think.

“You said you have all these pent up emotions.” He lifted his hand away from Richie’s leg and let it fall at the neckline of Richie’s t-shirt instead. “What kind of emotions?”

He took a deep breath and tried to keep himself from crying again as he thought about it, all the overwhelming fear and rage and anxiety. “The shitty kind.”

Eddie hummed softly and turned on his side, lifting his hand to Richie’s hair now. He liked twirling the messy curls on his fingers. He thought it might’ve calmed Eddie, but sometimes it only made Richie more nervous. “What did you mean when you said that before?”

Richie almost laughed at the vagueness, “Eds—”

“I mean, when you said what’s the point of falling in love if we…” he trailed off and thought for a brief moment. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true.”

“Why.”

“S’ghetti, we’ve been over this.” He tried his best to stay calm, to take deep breaths, to focus on Eddie’s fingers in his hair and let that subdue him. “We don’t belong here.”

“We belong wherever we want to be.”

“Do you  _ want _ to be here, Eds?”

“Well, right now I don’t really want to be anywhere else. You’re here, Bill and Stan are here, Bev, Ben, and Mike are here. This is where we’re supposed to be right now, and maybe that’ll change in a year when we all go away to college, but…right now, I have you here with me, and I want to make the most of that.”

“You think we’re not going to be together after high school?”

Eddie shrugged. “I don’t know, Richie. But if we aren’t, I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t fall in love with you when I had the chance.”

“I’ll go wherever you go, Eds. I don’t even know what I wanna do, so I’ll just take a gap year and crash in your dorm.”

Eddie giggled, light and airy and music to Richie’s ears. “I bet you would.” He climbed into Richie’s lap and nuzzled into his neck, holding on tight with lazy fingers still combing through his hair. “I don’t want to tell everyone, you know that. And like, maybe we don’t even have to tell anyone? We can just, y’know, stop hiding it and let them figure it out.”

Richie held onto Eddie's waist a little bit tighter. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can, Richie.”

“I don’t,” he choked and snuffed out his fear as best he could, “I don’t know how. I don’t know how to stop myself from freaking out so much. I can’t help it, Eds, and I wish I could for your sake if anything. I don’t want to be scared of loving you or holding your hand or kissing you, but I am, and I’m sorry. I just can’t help it.”

Eddie sat back, cupping Richie’s sad face in his hands. He smiled, soft and careful, and for some reason it made Richie’s heart ache. “We can take it slow. And it can be just when we’re at the club house or at Bill’s, when we’re all just alone together. I promise. I just don’t want to stay hidden forever.”

Richie nodded. He thought that maybe he could manage that. “Just around our friends?”

“Yeah. Just around our friends, Richie. Nobody else has to know.”

He let his head fall onto Eddie’s shoulder. “And we can take it slow?”

“Yeah, Richie,” he giggled, “just not too slow, okay?” 

Richie thought he’d do just about anything to make Eddie giggle like that forever. 

~*~

As it turned out, they acted more like themselves when they weren’t trying to hide. They all sat in Bill’s living room, his parents had gone out for the night, and Eddie was ripping at the sleeve of Richie’s jacket after he’d sneezed in the opposite elbow. “Are you fucking kidding me, Rich? That’s  _ my _ fucking sweatshirt, you jackass!”

“No, it’s not.”

“ _ Yeah _ ! It is, and you just got snot all over it.”

“No, it’s  _ not _ . If it were yours it’d be way too tiny for me.”

“Fuck you! Then why’s my fuckin’ name on the tag?” 

“Dunno what you’re talking about.”

Eddie climbed on top of him to try and rip it off, but Richie held strong with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Not sure if I’m glad they’re acting like their old selves again or not,” Stan deadpanned.

“I think it means they’re happy?” Mike shrugged. “So that’s good, I guess.”

“Nah,” Stan shook his head. “I’m pretty sure I absolutely hate it.”

“It’s alright, guys,” Bev shoved her hand in the bowl of popcorn in her lap. “I didn’t actually want to watch this movie anyway.” She pulled a couple pieces into her palm before throwing them in Richie’s direction. 

Eddie sent her a look that could absolutely kill, but she couldn’t help the strangled laugh that left her throat as she watched his nostrils flare. “Don’t get it in his  _ hair _ , Bev!” He gave up on trying to get his hoodie back and went searching for each piece she had thrown. “This idiot doesn’t wash his hair for like, _ a week _ straight, so if something gets lost in there it’s not coming out for a while.”

“Hey! That’s not true, you liar.”

“Oh, Richie, it  _ so is _ .”

“And why do you care so much, Eddie?” She smirked at both of them, and Richie couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Because Richie’s a loser and he doesn’t know how to leave me alone,” he muttered, sitting back down on the couch with his arms folded over his chest. “And that means  _ I’m  _ the one that’s going to have to deal with stale popcorn smell for the next week.”

She hummed. “ _ Okay _ .” And then Stan looked at Bev, and Bev looked at Stan. They eyed each other because they both knew, but neither of them knew that the other knew. Stan glanced over at Richie then, and Richie looked anywhere but. He thought that the feeling of not knowing when you might be suddenly outed was probably a lot worse than actually just telling your friends yourself, or as Eddie said,  _ just letting them figure it out _ . So far most of their friends were oblivious because neither of them were hiding it anymore even if they were definitely taking it slow. Still, nobody else but Bev and Stan had managed to catch on.

The tail end of July was already approaching, and that freaked Richie out because it meant that they’d be going back to school soon, and everything they did would be in the public’s eye. He tried to find comfort in the idea that Bowers and the rest of his crew would be out of their hair, and for the most part, he thought that might settle a lot of their problems. 

The movie they were watching was boring. It was  _ Gremlins _ , which wasn’t a bad movie per se, but Richie’d seen it about a million times already. Not only did the movie choice suck, but Bill unfortunately had rules in his house when his parents would be coming home the same night: no parties, no getting shitfaced, and clean up your own alcohol when you’re done with it. Richie thought that they were stupid rules because the Denbroughs didn’t really care about their kids, they just pretended to. They were like Richie’s parents in that way except Maggie and Went stopped pretending a long time ago. 

_ Oh well _ , Richie told himself as Eddie pulled his long arm around his own shoulders, settling into his side. Richie held his breath, and Eddie never let go of his hand. He was getting tired, Richie knew that’s what this meant, Eddie was getting sleepy. Richie’s anxiety and paranoia tended not to flare up so much once he’d had a drink or two, so he did. His empty beer can sat on the lamp’s table next to his spot on the couch, and Eddie’s touch wasn’t so scary anymore, especially in a room full of friends. Bev and Stan already knew, and Mike and Ben were two of the nicest people Richie’d ever met, and Bill wouldn’t ever tell anyone he hated them even if he did. So Richie felt okay.

“Richie,” Bev sang, holding her empty bowl in the air. “I need more popcorn.”

He was thoroughly wedged into the couch now, Eddie’s full, sleepy weight being pressed into his side. “Okay? So go get more.” There was no way he was getting up now. He was just getting comfy, and he had his Eddie already falling asleep on him. 

“Sorry, I’m actually paying attention to the movie. That means you need to go get it for me.”

Eddie tugged at Richie’s fingers lightly and hummed. “Go ahead. Just hurry back.”

“Yeah, alright.” He stood reluctantly, carefully maneuvering around Eddie and grabbing the bowl. While he was at it, he took the empty beer can, shaking it in Bill’s general direction. “I’m cleaning up my shit, Billie!” Bill only flipped him off, never breaking his focus from the screen.

He threw a pack of popcorn on the stove before tossing the can in the bin next to the trash (because the Denbroughs actually recycled). Richie was ready to go back to Eddie. He was thoroughly sleepy even if it hadn’t been that late, and he wanted more than anything to curl up with Eddie in his arms. 

When the foil on the stove looked like it was ready to burst, Richie emptied all the popcorn into Bev’s bowl and made his way back. She crooned a quiet, “ _ Thank you _ …” but Richie was disappointed to see Eddie now laying down, taking up both their seats. He took a deep breath, not willing to wake him up, and took a seat on the floor in front of Eddie instead. Except Eddie definitely wasn’t asleep just yet because as soon as Richie sat down, Eddie’s little fingers found their way into his hair. And that was it, Richie was ready to absolutely melt.

“You can come up here, you know,” Eddie whispered. “You don’t have to sit on the floor.”

Richie tilted his head back and mumbled under his breath, “Is that right, Eds? You gonna make room for me?” Eddie let out a short, breathy laugh before pushing himself up and sleepily patting the spot next to him. Richie slid his way up, and Eddie plopped his head in Richie’s lap. He could feel someone staring at them, maybe Ben or Mike, but Richie couldn’t bring himself to care because Eddie was wrapping his gentle hands around Richie’s thigh, settling in and getting ready for sleep. And he wished they could just stay here, fixed in a little time loop filled with shitty movies and a tired, cuddly Eddie. Even if some of their friends were getting suspicious, and maybe the looks they got were dirty ones sometimes, but it was worth it to keep Eddie happy.

But Richie woke up to Eddie yelling and probably crying. He was still on Bill’s couch, neck stiff and head pressed into the top of the backrest. It seemed like everyone had already set up camp for the night, sleeping bags and makeshift beds strewn about the room. “Oh,” it was Bill, “you’re awake, Richie.”

“Is Eddie okay?” He glanced into the kitchen. Eddie stood with one arm folded over his chest and the other propping the house phone up to his ear. 

“Uh, his mom just called.”

“The fuck does she want?”

Bill shrugged. “Uhm, Richie. Can I ask you something?”

“If you have to.” But he wasn’t taking his eyes off Eddie any time soon. 

“Uh, well. I think we need to—” he stumbled over his words. It was the t’s this time.

“Spit it out, Bill. What’s got you so nervous?”

“I just think it would be best if we were all honest with each other, and—”

“Ugh!  _ Fuck _ !” Eddie yelled, slamming the phone back into its resting place. Some of the others started to toss and grumble at all the noise. “She’s such a fucking  _ bitch _ .” He threw himself down next to Richie, eyes red and ready to burst, lips tight and frustrated.

“What’s wrong, Eds?”

“I have to go home.”

“Why?” Bill crossed his arms, brows knitting together.

“Because Sonia’s a fucking psycho.”

“Richie, shut the fuck up. For once, just shut the fuck up.”

“It’s  _ true _ , Eds!”

Eddie took a deep breath. “She expected me home by ten apparently, and now she’s having a fucking anuerysm because its two in the morning.”

“But you guys only got here at eight…”

“Yeah, I  _ know _ , Bill. Jesus fucking Christ—”

“I can drive you home if you want, Eddie.”

“I don’t want to go home.”

“Eddie,” Richie sighed, “you know if you don’t go home now, it’s only gonna get worse. It might be better to just dive right in and get it over with. I’ll come with you.”   
  
“You really think she’s going to let you in the house after all this?”

“She can suck it up! Eds, I’ll go with you. I promise I won’t leave until you say it's okay.”

It was quiet, and then Eddie inhaled shakily. “Promise?”

Richie drew an imaginary  _ X _ over his chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Okay. Fuck, okay.” Eddie stood. “Bill, you don’t have to drive us. It’s late.”

“Exactly, and you live on the other side of town. I’m driving you. Don’t worry about it.”

The car ride was weird and silent except for the soft shitty music that crackled through Bill’s radio. Eddie sat in the front, and Richie took the backseat. It was better than the trunk anyway. “So what did you want to talk about, Bill?” Richie called from the back when he couldn’t take the quiet anymore. 

“Oh, uh…” he trailed off but picked back up, “It can wait. You guys should deal with Eddie’s mom first.”

“Thank you again for driving us,” Eddie smiled just slightly when Bill dropped them off.

“No problem. Good luck.” 

Then Bill drove off, and Richie and Eddie were stuck standing at the front door, neither dared to open it or even knock. “It’s gonna be okay, Spaghetti.” Richie scratched carefully at the back of Eddie’s head. And maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. It would probably end in Sonia kicking him out and Richie having to walk home. Eddie would be upset either way. The only thing left of his beer was a dull headache now. 

Eddie pushed the door open with a sigh. “Ma, I’m home.”

Richie hated the pull in his stomach when they were met with no response. He couldn’t imagine how Eddie felt. He slowly turned the corner into the living room, and Richie followed. There sat Sonia Kaspbrak in her stupid fucking recliner watching her stupid fucking TV. She only ever watched the same reruns over and over. “It’s about time,” she hummed, and when she looked up, she scowled something awful, glaring daggers into Richie. “I didn’t expect you to be here, Richard. It’d probably be best if you went home.”

“No,” Eddie muttered, not breaking his stare from Sonia. “You stay here, Richie.”

“This conversation does not concern him, Eddie.”

“He’s not leaving.”

She took a deep breath and her nostrils flared. Still, she couldn’t be bothered to stand up. “You two have been spending an awful lot of time together lately, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, Ma. Richie’s my best friend, that’s what best friends do. Look, if you’re gonna yell at me, could you—”

“Best friends?” she screamed out a laugh, loud and shrill. “Edward, you’re a seventeen year old boy, you shouldn’t be having sleepovers with your best friend every other night. You shouldn’t be spending every waking minute of the day with your  _ best friend _ . Even best friends need a break from one another, Eddie! So you tell me again that you and this boy are just best  _ friends _ !”

Eddie’s fists clenched and unclenched and then clenched again. “We were just at Bill’s, Ma! It was all of us! I swear!”

“You expect me to believe that when you told me you were going to be home by ten! You expect me to believe that when I don’t see any of your friends around here anymore except for this one!” She pointed an accusatory finger at Richie.

“I never said that I would be home by—”

“Oh, God! Oh, Dear God! My sweet little Eddie Bear, this is why I want you home by a certain time. You’ve been corrupted, my little boy.” There was a shake to her voice, and Richie couldn’t see her well from where he stood, but he thought she might be crying. “They’ve all taken my sweet little Bear from me.”   
  
Eddie glanced at Richie, all that pent up rage, all that harbored anguish pushing at his eyes, on the brink of bursting, of giving in. There was something apologetic to the way he glanced at him. “Ma,” his voice was barely there, “what are you even talking about?”

“I’m talking about him!” she wailed, and finally she stood. Her round, angry face fixated on Richie now. “You—you’ve done this to him!” He knew where this was going, and he felt the familiarity of his heart twisting in his chest, pounding again and again at his ribs. “You’ve turned my son into a homosexual! As if there wasn’t enough already  _ wrong _ with him!” A hand flew over her mouth as she sobbed.

Richie couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Even if he could, he didn’t think he’d be able to spit his words out coherently, so he just shook his head frantically— _ no, no, no _ . “That’s not how it is! Ma, I swear, that’s not—”   
  
“Don’t you worry, Eddie Bear. We’ll take you to Doctor Brannan tomorrow, I’ve already set up an appointment. Don’t you worry, we’ll get you fixed in no time.”

Richie’s bottom lip quivered. His fingers twitched at his sides.  _ No, no, no _ . His stomach knotted, and his mouth ran dry. “No.” He didn’t mean to say it out loud, or maybe he did, but he managed to catch Sonia’s attention either way.

“ _ You _ !” Richie wished she would stop calling him that. “You get out of my house! And leave my son alone!” He only shook his head, wished he had the courage to take Eddie’s hand, but Sonia started pushing and shoving him out the door. He watched Eddie sob as she slammed the front door in his face.

Richie screamed.

He screamed, and he cried, and he screamed some more because he wasn’t sure what else to do. He could feel each and every pump of blood from his heart, could feel it in his arms and in his face. He couldn’t go home. He couldn’t leave Eddie. So he waited for the storm to pass, waited until his heart calmed, and his eyes only stung. Then he took a deep breath and steadied himself as best he could before looking for direct entry into Eddie’s room on the second floor. 

While adrenaline still beat through his veins, he pushed one of Sonia’s biggest flower pots up against the wall. Carefully, he balanced on it and hoisted himself up onto the shelf of roofing that sat over the front porch. He could still hear them yelling at each other when he slid Eddie’s bedroom window open and slipped inside. “Have you been spending any time with the neighbors, Eddie?”

“They’re not even gay, Ma! They’re just two guys living together!”

Richie closed the window again and quietly made his way over to Eddie’s bed. 

“Eddie Bear, I just want to understand. Help me understand!”

“You don’t want to understand! You want to pretend to understand so you can control me, that’s all you’ve ever wanted to do!”

Richie’d never heard Eddie yell at Sonia like that.

“That doesn’t sound like my little Eddie Bear. Maybe it would be best to stop going out with your friends for a little while.”

“That only worked when I was twelve.”

“Well, maybe if we just—”

“No! No, I’m not doing this anymore!”

Richie could hear the pain in his voice. He felt it in his own heart and wanted more than anything to run down there and hold Eddie, to tell him that everything would be alright even if it wouldn’t.

“This is all his influence, Eddie Bear, can’t you see that? He’s  _ manipulating _ you!”

“Fuck off! Just  _ fuck off _ !” Eddie was beginning to break.

“But you love me, Eddie. You love your mommy, don’t you? Eddie Bear, please, I—”

“Shut up! Stop it, I can’t take this shit anymore!”

Then there was stomping, a smattering of angry footsteps marching up the stairs, and the door swung open. Eddie slammed it closed again, eyes screwed shut as he sank to the floor, shoulders shaking and eyes wet. He hadn’t seen Richie, so he stood albeit shakily and slowly made his way over to Eddie.

“Eds?”

His eyes popped open wide. “Richie?” He broke into a smile and wiped his tear, only resulting in dampening the rest of his face at this point. “How’d you even get in here?”

Richie took a seat on the floor across from Eddie. “Climbed through the window.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder and shrugged. “Besides, I promised I wouldn’t leave until you said it was okay.”

Eddie let out a small, wet laugh and crawled into Richie’s lap. “You’re such a pain in the ass.” He could feel Eddie’s whole body shaking as he ran a careful hand up and down Eddie’s back. “Is this what you were scared of, Richie? Because this sucks…” Eddie was wrecked, absolutely heartbroken, and it showed in the way he spoke, the fragments chipping away at his skin in an itchy, uncomfortable mess. 

“Partially,” he answered honestly. Because he’d expected things like this to happen, for family members and friends to be absolutely pissed at them, but he was prepared for much worse. 

“Can you put on some music, Richie?”

He hesitated, “You don’t wanna talk about what just happened?”

“No. My mom’s a total bitch and wants to give me hetero pills… There’s not much more to say.” His blunt fingernails scraped lightly across Richie’s shoulder blade. “I just want to hug you and listen to music.”

Richie nodded, he could do that. “Do you want me to sing to you, Spaghetti?”

Eddie snorted and tapped gently at Richie’s back, and if he had to take a guess, he’d say that Eddie just didn’t have the energy to slap him properly. So he laughed softly at the gesture and attempted to stand with Eddie still in his lap. It took some hard work, but they eventually made it. Richie brought Eddie to bed before making his way over to the very meticulous selection of CDs and cassette tapes.

“What’ll it be, Mister Spaghett?”

“I dunno,” his voice still shook. “Maybe something by  _ The Cure _ .”

Some of Eddie’s music was absolute garbage, but Richie could get behind a little bit of  _ Boys Don’t Cry _ . “Wise selection, Mister Spaghett. Exquisite taste.” Richie lifted his fingers to his lips and gave an over dramatic chef’s kiss. 

“You’re so annoying…” But Eddie still laughed, and that’s all Richie cared about. “Lock the door, please?”

“Oh? And why would you want me to do that, Eds? Any particular reason you want to be locked in your bedroom with your lifelong crush?” Richie complied and made his way over to Eddie who was far past fighting back, past rolling his eyes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you want little—”

“You’re seriously making me want to kick you back out the window.”

Richie smiled and rolled into bed next to Eddie. “Do it if it’ll make you smile or laugh, Eddie. Go ahead and toss me out your bedroom window.”

Eddie only responded with a soft grunt as he curled up into Richie’s side. And sure Richie would laugh and joke, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit scared. Because maybe Sonia’s reaction was pretty shitty, but what if she decided to go into work tomorrow and tell all her coworkers, and then her coworkers would tell all their kids, and their kids would tell their friends, and before he knew it the whole town would be in on their little secret. 

Richie didn’t think that keeping secrets had to be bad, especially not this one. This was a secret that was supposed to be shared with only a select few, and that was okay because it meant that it was special, that only the very best of people got to see the untold truth. But that was quite the fantasy because when you tell one person a secret, you don’t ever just tell that one person. Once that secret is out, no matter how many were intended to hear it, more will discover it whether you’d like them to or not. And that was just the nature of secrets, no matter the kind.

He liked to think that private little moments, like the ones he and Eddie shared now, were also a kind of secret—the sacred kind that would truly just stay between them, not because they needed it to but because they were special and intimate enough to never surface among others. 

_ Remember the time that the sky went black, _

_ We waited alone on the sands. _

_ Remember the taste of the raging sea, _

_ But nobody held out their hands. _

_ Somebody died for this. _

_ Somebody died _

_ For just one kiss. _

Eddie grazed his fingers down the soft trail of hair on Richie’s stomach, the skin there now damp from a transfer of wiping away tears. It tickled a little. “Richie…” Eddie whispered, words nasal and tired, “can you promise me that everything will be okay?”

Richie shook his head, and his heart cramped in his chest. “I don’t know, Eds.”

“I want you to.”

“What if I break that promise?”

Eddie pushed Richie’s shirt up to his chest,  _ out of the way _ , and pinched his tummy. “I know you won’t.” 

“How do you know?”

He splayed his hand out flat on Richie’s skin. “Because I know.”

“But what happens if I do?”

Eddie shrugged at first. “I dunno, Richie. What happens?” One of Eddie’s small fingers circled Richie’s belly button. That tickled a little more. “I want you to promise me anyway. That way I know that we at least tried to make it okay.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Okay, I promise.”

  
  



	5. Of Falling In Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little cliche oops
> 
> CWs:   
> reference/hints to infant death, forced coming out, hate crimes/queer violence, underage drinking, references to coercion/non-consensual sex

Things weren’t so bad after Sonia’s breakdown after all. In fact, things were better than they had been before because she didn’t tell anyone—she was probably too embarrassed—but now she was also one less person that they needed to hide from, and that made all the difference. Richie especially liked that they continued to have their  _ sleepovers _ , and Sonia couldn’t do a single thing about it because Richie would sneak into Eddie’s room, or Eddie would say he was going to Bill’s and then hurry over to Richie’s. Sometimes, Richie would leave through the front door in the morning and kiss Eddie goodbye because he  _ could _ , and Sonia would have to watch and just deal with it because she was way too in love with her son to actually do anything. And somewhere, in the very back of her mind, Richie knew that every time they snuck into each other’s rooms, Sonia thought that they were fucking. Even if they weren’t, the idea of that tormenting her absolutely delighted Richie. 

It had been a while since Sonia figured it all out. Still, she along with Bev and Stan were the only ones to have been confirmed to know what was really going on. “You have like, this crazy newfound confidence, Richie. It’s wild, and all because of  _ my mom _ ? Didn’t see that one coming,” Eddie had told him one day while at the arcade—Richie played, and Eddie watched, telling him everything he was doing wrong. “Shoulda turned left.”

But Eddie was right. Richie thought that maybe it was the validation that an adult wouldn’t have done anything about them. Although, Sonia was really only an adult by age, deep down she was just as bad as Bowers, even if she’d never hit Eddie. Somehow that was even more comforting to Richie.

“Why do you even like it here so much?” Eddie giggled when Richie pulled him into the photo booth. 

“The arcade or the photo booth, Eds?”

“Well, I meant the arcade, but—”

“I like the photo booth because it gives me a chance to do this,” he held onto Eddie and gave him a quick kiss, “without anyone ever knowing. And I like the arcade…” he thought for a moment and then leaned in close to whisper in Eddie’s ear, “because it’s full of boys.”

Eddie snorted out a laugh and pushed at Richie’s chest. “You’re gross!” Then he hurried out to grab their pictures. Eddie had become more on edge than Richie had lately. Where Richie seemed to gain some conviction from Sonia’s reaction, Eddie seemed to lose some.

Later that same week, Bill came to pick them up to have one last  _ hurrah _ before school started up again in a couple of days. Richie and Eddie hurried out to the car, because of course Eddie had already been over, and Mike eyed him after Stan opened up the trunk. “Y’know you still haven’t given me back my sweatshirt after I let you borrow it the other week.”

“Fuck, Mike. You couldn’t have told me  _ before _ I crawled my way into this god forsaken trunk.”

“Sorry, but it  _ has _ been a while, figured you would’ve remembered by now.”

“Mike, if it’s been over a week, there’s no way I’m remembering on my own.” Richie looked up at Stan as he got ready to lock them in. “Let me go get his stupid sweatshirt?”

Stan groaned and stepped to the side. “Yeah, fine.”

“Come to think of it, I’ve never been inside Richie’s house before,” Bev mused.

“Me neither,” Ben nodded.

“Field trip!” She pushed Stan’s seat forward and they all followed Richie like little ducklings inside the house. Eddie of course made a comment about the garage, and they turned around to go through the front door instead. Richie had since hidden a key, for Eddie’s sake.

“There’s really not much to see, guys.” Richie didn’t like his house. It was too much like his parents. 

“Uhm, I dunno what you’re talking about!” Bev scoffed. “Baby pictures of Richie! Guys, look!” Richie rolled his eyes and waited for all of them to stop cooing at the dusty pictures in the front room. “Look at that, you even seem to be a pain in the ass as a two year old.”

“Fuck off, Marsh.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister, Richie.” Ben pointed to one of the pictures.

Richie shrugged a little, and Eddie shifted uncomfortably next to him. “I don’t.”

Bev snorted, glancing over the picture. “Oh, so you’re the one in the pink dress with a pretty little bow in your hair then, huh?” 

“Nope.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. 

“So—”

“Let’s just drop it guys, okay?” Stan jumped in. 

“It’s Richie’s cousin,” Bill lied.

Bev only eyed the four of them. She saw right through all of it, and thank god she had the decency to let it go. Richie continued up the stairs when things got too unbearably silent and awkward. “Whatever. You wanted your sweatshirt back, right?” Eddie hurried after him, and the rest followed. They all piled into his room, and Richie rummaged around in his closet for the sweatshirt. 

“Why didn’t you tell us that your house is awesome, Richie?” Everyone started looking around his room and going through his things, harmless exploration.

“Because it's not.” He shrugged, finally handing Mike what they came in here for in the first place. It didn’t stop everyone from continuing their snooping. “You all better hope that you don’t find anything damning.” Richie laid back on his bed next to where Eddie already sat himself. Bill and Stan looked pretty bored. They’d seen Richie’s room thousands of times.

“And what exactly would you define as damning, Rich?” Stan looked aimlessly around the room. Maybe it changed since they were fourteen.

Richie shrugged. “My porn collection, a secret sex tape…” He was joking, but thinking about it, that actually might be pretty damning after all. They wouldn’t find anything like that though. He and Eddie were unfortunately still scared, gay virgins. Too much went into sex, it was too complicated. Originally, Richie was stoked to try anything and everything, but then they actually tried, and it was probably the most terrifying thing they’ve ever experienced. They barely got past second base…whatever that meant for two guys.

“You’re just going to leave this laying around, Richie?” Bev taunted. And Richie didn’t think much of it because she was probably pointing out dirty underwear or something stupid like that, but everyone crowed around around Bev to get a look at what she was holding.

“I fucking knew it!” Bill yelled, completely confident.

“Alright, Marsh.” Richie sat up now. “Whatcha got?” 

She shrugged with a smug look on her face. “It’s cute.” Then she handed over the series of pictures that they had taken the other day at the arcade. 

“Oh…” Richie looked them over one by one. The first was relatively harmless, just him and Eddie smiling at each other. The second, well that’s the one that did the damage. Richie had pulled Eddie into a full blown kiss, he thought he even saw a little bit of tongue.  _ Gross _ . The third had Richie whispering to Eddie, and the fourth had Eddie giggling like crazy. “Wasn’t expecting visitors, I guess.” He let out a dry laugh as he waved around the pictures, and he could feel it start up again, the pounding against his chest. It was too quiet in this room. “Sorry.” Everyone could probably hear, the thudding against his ribs.

Eddie grabbed his hand carefully before grumbling under his breath, “You don’t have to apologize, stupid.”

“I mean, that’s what I was going to talk to you about the other night,” Bill spoke in a hushed voice. “When you all came over and we watched  _ Gremlins _ ? I was gonna ask you about it. Not that I care or anything! I was just curious, y’know? You and Eddie seem really close, and I didn’t want you to feel like you had to hide anything.”

“Yeah!” Mike jumped in. “I think we all kinda already knew anyway.”   
  
“Honestly, I’m just glad you stopped spending so much with Bev,” Ben joked. “For a while, I thought you two had something going on.” They’d started seeing each other a couple weeks ago. Neither of them bothered to hide it.

Bev snorted. “I think I’d rather die than let Richie touch me.”

Everyone laughed and started making jokes again, and the pressure in his chest slowly subsided. Richie let out a little laugh himself because they genuinely didn’t care. None of them cared, and now they were basically free. These were the only people they ever spent any time with, and now everyone was on the same page. For a minute, Richie thought he might cry even if he wasn’t sure why because he was so relieved and happy, and he thought people were only supposed to cry when they were pissed off. He squeezed Eddie’s hand a little bit tighter.

~*~

Senior year was going to be weird, Richie could tell. He barely had any classes with Eddie, which fucking sucked, but he had a few with Stan and Bev. Bowers and the rest of his gang weren’t in school anymore, and that was awesome, but still incredibly strange. Richie stood by his opinion that lunch was always and would continue to be the best period of the day. It was practically the only time Richie ever even got to see Eddie anymore because he wouldn’t even let Richie follow him home after school. “I need to actually get some homework done, Rich,” he would say. “You’re just going to be a distraction.”

And Eddie was totally right, but that didn’t mean he had to actually make the responsible decision of not letting Richie come over.

“We can go get dinner or something when I’m done,” he would always say, and then he'd end up working too late and telling Richie that he was too tired to go out. On weekends they’d hang out as a group, and then Richie was back at square one. So lunch was really his only option. He  _ could _ skip class and go find Eddie, but then the problem would be getting Eddie to skip class. So lunch it was. 

He was nervous because they’d fallen into something very complacent over the past couple of weeks where they had minimal interaction. Richie didn’t want to mess anything up because what if this was what Eddie wanted, just a summer fling, and his plan was to slowly fade away from Richie all along. He couldn’t accept that, and there was a pretty good chance that wasn’t the case, but sometimes Richie’s own mind got the best of him, picking apart his thoughts until there was nothing but fragments and feelings left.

“Eddie?” Richie took his hand one day as they sat at their lunch table—they were seniors now, so they’d actually managed to secure a table this year instead of a spot on the floor. “Come to the bathroom with me.”

“What?” Eddie raised an eyebrow at him, looked back down at his papers with the shake of his head. “Just go by yourself, Richie. I’m sure you can handle it.” He continued looking over his notes for physics. Richie wasn’t sure why he’d tortured himself with a class that difficult his last year of high school.

Richie squeezed his hand a little tighter. “Please, Eds?”

“I have to study, Richie.”

“It’s only the second week of school, why the hell would you have to study? There’s no way you already have a test.”

Eddie let out a little grunt as he closed his notebook. “Alright, alright. Just make it quick.”

Guys didn’t go to the bathroom to talk. They just didn’t, but everyone always waited until after lunch to go to the bathroom anway, so Richie hoped that they’d be granted at least some privacy. Luckily, the only person in there was just leaving as they went in, and when Richie didn’t head into one of the stalls, Eddie gave him a look, an awful look that made Richie think he’d done something wrong.

“Are you gonna take a piss or not?”

Richie sighed and pushed himself up onto the counter next to sinks. “Eddie, what’s wrong?”

He only shook his head and mumbled, “Don’t sit up there, it’s filthy.”

“Just talk to me, Eds.” Richie pulled him in by the shoulders, his arms crossed firmly and his nose turned down. “What’s wrong? I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong, and you haven’t talked to me properly in over a week.”

Eddie shook his head again, and Richie watched as little tears dropped and soaked into the knee of his pants. It broke his heart that Eddie had been sad all this time, and Richie hadn’t known. He pulled Eddie in close to his chest, and slowly, shakily Eddie snaked his arms around Richie’s waist.

“Come on, Eddie. What’s going on?”

“I’m scared, Richie.”

“Why, Eds? Did Bowers do anything? Did your mom say something?”

“I mean…she’s not wrong, and I just—”

“Eddie,” he sighed, “what did she say? You know she says shit just to scare you all the time.”

“I know, but…” he took a deep breath and sniffled, rubbing his face into Richie’s shirt. “She said that people were gonna find out and try to hurt us.” His fingers curled into the fabric on Richie’s back. “And like, that’s whatever, right? Because Bowers has probably done worse than anything anyone else in his stupid school could do, right, Richie? That’s what I kept telling myself, but then I started to think about some of the things that you used to say, and I just got lost in my own head, and I—” he choked on his own words and held on tighter, moved in closer. “I didn’t mean to be an asshole and ignore you. I’m sorry. I know I usually don’t get so uptight about things like this, but I get scared too sometimes, you know?”

Richie’s chest hurt. It was a different kind of hurt from the familiar pounding, chaotic and overwhelming. This was…this was an  _ ache _ , a reaching out, a longing. He’d felt it only a handful of times before, and it was always around Eddie. “Are you sure that’s all she said, Eds?”

Eddie shook his head, pulling away from Richie’s chest. “Can you come over after school? I don’t really want to keep talking about this in the school bathroom.”

“You got it, Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie pulled him in for one last squeeze when the door swung open, and they froze, both sets of eyes drying to the door, then both took a sigh of relief when they saw that it was just Stan.

“I uh, brought your bags from the lunchroom. Everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine, Stan.” Eddie rubbed this face and looked himself over in the mirror. “Thank you.” He ran cold water in the sink. The poor kid really did look like he’d been crying with swollen eyes and a red face. Richie hated crying, but he hated looking like he’d been crying even more. 

“Hey, Stan?” Richie turned to him and motioned to the bathroom door with his eyes.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean? You want me to leave?”   
  


“No! Fucking— Just watch the door, please.”

Stan rolled his eyes because he knew where this was going. He was usually designated watchman, so he just crossed his arms and leaned up against the heavy wooden door. It kind of sucked that they needed a watchperson in the first place, but Richie would rather it be Stan than anyone else. 

“Eds?” Richie jumped down from the counter top. “Can I kiss you?” And shit, he was still capable of getting nervous in front of Eddie, jittery, a flutter lapping at the pit of his stomach. But Eddie looked up, saw Stan leaning reluctantly against the door, and hoisted himself up onto his toes. “I missed this, Eddie.”

“Ugh, god. _ I _ didn’t! You two are gross,” Stan huffed. “Can you hurry up, I can’t be late for pre-calc again. Mr. Gargawitz already hates me.”

“And who’s fault is that, Stan?” Richie chided, getting one last kiss from Eddie on the cheek. He had to jump to reach.

“Yours, Richie. It’s your fault.”

“What kind of name is Gargawitz anyway?” Eddie grabbed his backpack as they headed back into the hallway. “Thanks again, Stan.”

“I dunno, Polish probably.” 

“Rhetorical question, Rich.” Eddie rolled his eyes, but he smiled anyway, the hint of a laugh pushing past his tongue. And Richie knew why his chest started to ache so much, why he wanted to cry when he was happy.

“I’ll meet you at your locker at the end of the day?”

Eddie nodded.

“Don’t even think about running out on me, Kaspbrak. I know where you live.”

“ _ Shut up _ , Richie,” he still laughed. 

“Yeah, Richie. Listen to Eddie.” Stan shoved his bag at Richie’s chest before dragging him along. “Let’s go, shithead.”

Pre-calc was awful. It wasn’t any worse than usual, but math teachers always managed to make the most of every second of their class time. And it’s not that Richie couldn’t keep up because he could. In fact, more often than not, Richie was the one who helped Stan catch up more often than not. Needless to say, Stan was less than eager about getting extra help from Richie. That didn’t matter right now though, what mattered was that he wanted to go home, or at least to Eddie’s home. He’d just cried to Richie, shown the most emotion he had for the first time in what seemed like ages, and then Richie had to leave him in other classes for the rest of the day. That was torture.

Fortunately for Richie, Eddie didn’t skip out on him at the end of the day. Maybe he was planning to, but Richie caught him at his locker just in time. He knew they needed to talk, but there was something specific that Richie had been dying to tell Eddie for a while now and just didn’t know how to say it. Richie told himself that no matter what, he’d tell Eddie tonight, just rip it off like a bandaid because that was the only way to get something like this out of the way.

“My mom shouldn’t be home for a while,” Eddie told him as they crossed town over to Eddie’s. “She works late on Thursdays now, so…”

“I’ll definitely be keeping that in mind.” Richie wiggled his eyebrows, and Eddie rolled his eyes. 

“It’s not like that matters to you, you’ll just sneak in anyway.”

“Sure, but if I don’t have to climb all over Sonia’s house just to get to you, then— Well,  _ shit _ .”

“What?” Eddie turned to look in the direction that Richie had been facing. 

“Don’t look, Eds.” Richie slung his arm over Eddie’s shoulder and pulled him along. “Just keep walking. Didn’t expect to see Bowers still in Derry is all.” It was surprising to say the least, and it definitely dampened Richie’s mood even if he tried not to let it.

Once they reached Eddie’s room, he shrugged, “Y’know, I guess this almost has to do with what I wanted to talk about.” He sat on his bed, head hung low, eyes intentionally avoiding Richie. 

“What does? Bowers?”

Eddie nodded. “Especially now that we know he’s still here. I just…I guess I don’t understand how this is going to work now that we’re in school again. I mean, we can’t exactly be public about all this, and—”

“Wait, wait. Eddie, where’s all this coming from?” Richie took a seat next to him, pulled his legs up on the bed and reached a hand out for Eddie. “Over the summer, you didn’t care. Why does it matter now that we’re in school?”

Eddie took a deep breath and reached back into the drawer on his bedside table. He pulled out copies of newspaper clippings and set them on the mattress between them, a whole stack held together but a rubber band. “My mom gave me these. I guess it shouldn’t matter to us, but it made me think about when you said…” he trailed off and chewed on his bottom lip, contemplated whether or not he actually wanted to say it. “When you said, ‘what’s the point of being in love if we’re dead’.”

Richie didn’t have to go through the papers to know what they were all about, what each article would highlight. The very first page that rested atop the tall stack was titled:  _ Bellbrook Man Beaten Until Dead _ . Richie clenched his teeth to keep from crying, but he could feel the pounding against his ribs start up, and there wasn’t ever anything he could do to stop that.

“And I mean, some of them are old, Richie, but a lot of them are recent. One of them happened just last month.” Richie didn’t understand why a mother would want their child to see something like that, why she would fill Eddie’s head with all this nasty, real world shit. It didn’t make sense to him. “I guess, I always kinda knew that this stuff happened but reading over all these and thinking about it made it a lot more real.” Eddie paused for a brief moment, and Richie was left wondering why he’d kept all of them. “I’m sorry that I didn’t listen to you more when you tried to warn me.” He took a deep breath, but his voice still broke, “Because it was probably really scary to be thinking about all this and not have someone there to understand and sympathize. I just didn’t want to think about it, and that was really selfish.

“So…” he stopped to catch his breath and wipe his cheeks, “I’m going to ask you something, Richie. And I don’t want you to get upset because I don’t  _ want _ this, but I have to ask, Richie, I have to—is it worth being with me?”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Richie’s own voice shook. He couldn’t help it, he knew Eddie’d asked him not to get upset, but he was worth everything to Richie.

“I just…am I worth it? Is being in a relationship with me worth anything that might happen to you? Because I don’t— I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you and it was my fault.”

“Eddie,” Richie shook his head, and the ache began to replace the pounding. “Eddie Kaspbrak, you listen to me, okay?” Richie held on tight to Eddie’s hands now. “You are my favorite person in the world, and your happiness is all that matters. I am going to stick with you until you get absolutely sick and tired of having me follow you around. There is no one else in the entire universe that I’d rather be with. So fuck your mom and these awful fucking stories. And if you’ll have me, I promise I’ll take care of you. We’ll be careful, and I won’t ever let anything happen to you. Okay, Eddie?” 

He only sat there and said nothing, looking up at Richie with his round puppy dog eyes. Big, hot tears fell to his lap. 

“Eddie?”

He squeezed Richie’s hands tighter. “For once in our entire lives,” he mumbled with a shaky laugh teetering over his words, “I want you to just keep talking, Richie.”

Richie nodded, “Yeah, okay. Okay,” because he wasn’t sure if right now was the best time, but he was ready to tell Eddie what he’d been waiting to tell him for years now, and if he didn’t say it right then and there, he thought he might never have the courage to say it at all. “I think…I think I understand the point now. The point of falling in love, even if… I understand because I love you a lot, like I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you and have been for a long time. I love you so much that I can physically feel it inside of me. It aches sometimes. When you smile or laugh, or when you cry or get angry. I can feel it because there’s this need I have to keep you smiling or laughing or to take away your anger and tears, and it hurts me that I can’t do that.” 

Richie pulled his glasses off and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry. This is gross and sappy, and you don’t have to say you love me back. I mean it, you don’t. I just needed to tell you.”

Eddie let out a wet laugh as he shook his head. “Fucking  _ finally _ , Richie. I thought you’d never say it.”

He felt his cheeks warm even more than from just the crying, it reached all the way to the back of his neck and his fingertips. “You mean, you’ve been…”

“Waiting for fucking ever for you to say that? Yeah.” Eddie took a deep breath and wiped his face one last time before pushing the stack of papers onto the floor and climbing into Richie. “I love you too, Richie. I love you so much.”

~*~

Richie started wearing shorts again that year just in time for them to go out of season. All of their friends made comments and jokes about how much of a whore he was becoming. “Better watch out, Eddie,” Bev had said, “he’s gonna start reeling in  _ all _ the guys dressing like that.” And of course there were the comments about how absolutely pale he was, like when Stan said, “You should put some pants back on before you start blinding planes out of the sky.” But Richie couldn’t bring himself to care because none of them were ever about how skinny he was. 

Of course Eddie had been the one to tell him he was being ridiculous. They were at Eddie’s, locked in his room, of course, kissing a little more aggressively than usual, and Eddie tried to take Richie’s pants off. Obviously, he’d been put in this situation before, and he had his ways of getting around it. Sometimes he was just more confident than others, but that night he was feeling less than.

“Eds, we can’t.” Richie pulled Eddie’s hands away from the zipper of his jeans.

“The fuck, why?”

He tried not to take too long thinking of an excuse. “Your mom is literally downstairs.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, then he sat back between Richie’s legs. “For real? So what? It’s not like we’re doing anything besides kissing. I know you’re too chicken to actually try anything. You’re all talk, Tozier.”

“ _ Ha ha _ , very funny.”

“Plus, I know you get  _ immense joy _ from my mom getting all pissed off when we’re up here alone together.” Eddie rolled over onto his back. “So what’s really wrong?”

“Nothing! It’s not a big deal.”

“Well, you won’t let me take your pants off, and as your boyfriend, it kinda is a big deal.” Eddie paused and waited for Richie to throw another snarky remark back at him, but it never came. “Are you scared that I’m not going to be…impressed or whatever?”

“What? Eddie,  _ no _ . That’s not it.”

“Because I’ve only ever seen mine before, so it’s not like you have much competition.”

“Eddie. I said that’s not it.”

“I mean! Not saying  _ I’m _ not impressive, I just—”

“Eddie!”

“ _ So _ …”

“ _ So _ ?”

“So what’s  _ wrong _ ?”

Richie shook his head. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass.”

Eddie hummed then rolled over, throwing an arm over Richie’s chest. “Now tell me.”

Richie hated that he was about to say this, but he could trust Eddie. He could. “I don’t like my legs,” he grumbled.

“You  _ what _ ?” Eddie snorted out a laugh.   
  
Okay, maybe he couldn’t trust Eddie. “Fuck you. I really hate them.”

“But why?”

Richie let out a short grunt. “You’re three feet tall, Eds. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Fuck  _ you _ , Richie. Maybe I don’t like being three feet tall!”

“You’re literally the fucking cutest, so I dunno why you wouldn’t like being so small.” Richie rolled onto his side so he faced Eddie. “It makes me angry sometimes…because I just wanna carry you around everywhere, but I know I can’t. That’s really stupid, I know, but it’s true.”

“Yeah, well…people tend to not take me very seriously at a whopping five foot six.” Eddie pinched underneath Richie’s chin. “I dunno why you wouldn’t like your legs… Do you even know how pissed I was when you started growing and stopped wearing shorts?  _ The fucking audacity _ , Richie Tozier. I was so angry.”

“Really?” he snorted.

“Yes. You’re so tall, Richie.” Eddie’s whole face went red, and Richie couldn’t help but smile. “Not to boost your ego, but that’s kinda really hot.”

“Huh.”

“So…”

So Richie said fuck it and took his pants off, and he was glad he did because Eddie practically fawned over him after that, all but  _ worshipped _ him. It was great, and it did in fact boost his ego (to all of their friends’ misfortune). They already had to deal with Eddie’s and Richie’s constant  _ I love you _ ’s and kissing and teasing—because of course they hadn’t stopped saying it since they first did—but they had to deal with a doubly cocky Richie now too.

Richie and Eddie had agreed that Friday would be their night, and any weekdays that they could fit into their high school schedule, and then the rest of the weekend would be dedicated to the rest of their friends because they weren’t about to be the two friends that got together and ignored everyone else (even if they were very tempted to do so sometimes).

By the next week, September was already coming to an end, and Richie begrudgingly had to trade his shorts in for jeans again. He did put up a good fight to keep them another week or so, but Eddie told him that he was going to get sick, and ironically for Eddie’s sake only, Richie put his pants back on. 

That Friday, they went to Richie’s house.

“I have a surprise for you,” Richie said and told Eddie to close his eyes. So Eddie crawled up into Richie’s bed and threw his hands over his face. Richie tried not to waste too much time just admiring how adorable that was and hurried to grab the tiny box out his sock drawer before sitting himself down in front of Eddie. “Okay,” he nodded.

“Richie, you…got me something?”

“Yeah, Eds, that’s what a surprise is. Besides, yesterday was your birthday.” When Richie got nervous, he found that he either clammed up or started talking like a jackass. Unfortunately, this wasn’t one of those times where he just shut up. “So I guess we’re technically illegal now,” he laughed drily. “Y’know, ‘cause you’re eighteen now? And I’m not. I—”

“Richie,  _ god _ . That’s so not even how that works.” Eddie took the box from him and opened it up. That thankfully got Richie silent, made him the clam-up kind of nervous. “You got me…rings?” Eddie’s face flushed pink, and it seemed to be contagious because Richie started to heat up too. “We’ve only been dating for about four months, Richie… I—”

“No! No, it’s not like that.” He hurried to correct Eddie’s train of thought. “It’s just uhm… That one’s for you and that one’s for me. They’re just promise rings, whatever that means, I dunno what we’re promising really… I’m not like, proposing or anything though. I just want to make things official, I guess. Not that they weren’t already, I just—” He huffed out another nervous laugh, and Eddie smiled at him. Richie always thought the idea of marrying your first love was total bullshit, not that they’d even be able to get married anyway, but he felt like he really did want to spend the rest of his life with Eddie. They had each other for as long as he could remember, and he didn’t want to let go any time soon. 

The next morning, Richie, Bev, Ben, Stan, Mike, and Bill all piled into the clubhouse with snacks and drinks and music and decorations. It’s not like there was much to do on a late September afternoon in a town like Derry, but Eddie was the first of their friends to turn eighteen, so they had to do something special even if it just meant getting together and having a beer. 

Eddie ended up loving it anyway. They surprised him that night after going out for dinner, and he nearly cried then held Richie hostage on the hammock for the next hour and a half, showering him with hugs and kisses and  _ I love you _ ’s. Richie made Eddie drink a whole beer for his eighteenth instead of just his usual half. He wanted Eddie to totally let loose, and Richie’d take him home, to Richie’s home, to his bed, so it didn’t matter what Sonia would have to say. It was his birthday weekend, and Richie wasn’t going to let him get hung up on what his mom would think.

“I still can’t believe you’re the oldest,” Mike shook his head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie snapped, teetering for balance on the hammock as he sprung up from laying on top of Richie. “Is that supposed to be a short joke, asshole?”

Mike laughed. “Yeah, it is! I’m the biggest one here, I should be the oldest!”

“You can’t be the oldest and the biggest, Mike! That’s not fair.”

“Hey, hey!” Richie interrupted, planting possessive hands on Eddie’s hips. “Watch the way you’re talking to my boyfriend, alright? In his mind,  _ I’m _ the biggest.”

“You wish,” Eddie snorted and everyone let out loud grunts and  _ ew _ ’s. He’s pretty sure he heard Stan throw up a little bit. 

Richie had collected some of Eddie’s favorite CDs and cassettes and brought them down here for the night. As soon as the perfect song came on, Eddie stood and danced. He’d ended up drinking his whole beer and then some, so Eddie was thoroughly out of it. Richie couldn't complain, he looked warm and happy, and the ring Richie got him sat contently around his neck, bouncing around on it’s thin chain as he jumped around and laughed. He felt the ache in his chest when Eddie pulled him up to dance. He also felt like a little bit of an idiot because he couldn’t dance to save his life, and he had to duck his head in the clubhouse now, but the beer had kicked in a little while ago, and it made Eddie happy, so Richie was glad to look like an idiot.

It got dark quickly, and at some point during the night, Bev pulled Richie outside. It was a struggle, getting him up the ladder and out in the open, but she managed. They sat in the leaf covered grass. Richie had a stupid smile on his face, maybe the cheesiest grin he’d ever worn, and Bev just looked at him expectantly. “So?”

“So what?”

“How are things going between you and Eddie? Couldn’t help but notice that ring around his neck. Better be yours.”

Richie snorted out a laugh and flipped her off. “Yeah, Bev. Mine’s right here.” He wore his on his left middle finger, it was the only one it fit snuggly enough around.

“Adorable,” she huffed. 

“Bev, can I tell you something?” He pushed out a little chuckle.

“Sure, Richie.”

He threw himself onto his back and laughed. “I think I have like, a raging boner right now. S’is weird, don’t even know why.”

She rolled her eyes and kicked his shin before lying down next to him. “You’re actually disgusting. Why don’t you tell Eddie instead of me?”

He shrugged, and let out a quiet, “Can’t.” 

Bev shifted a little, probably because Richie was never quiet, especially not drunk Richie. “Why not?”

Richie only shrugged again.

“Well, you guys have fucked before, right? I mean, there’s no way you haven’t—”

“No. We haven’t.”

“For real?”

“Yeah, Bev. For real.”

“Why not?” She grumbled, rolled her eyes, “All you ever talk about is your dick.”

“I dunno! We just haven’t. It’s different for us, y’know? Nobody teaches you the right way to have gay sex, Bev.”

“Nobody teaches you how to have straight sex either, Rich!” she laughed. “You think Mr. Burberry’s sex ed is even remotely helpful? Besides,” she rolled over and propped herself up on her elbows, “I’m pretty sure there’s no right way to have sex. Doesn’t matter who you are. You just gotta figure out what works for you and go for it.” She thought for a quick second before her face lit up. “You should have sex  _ tonight _ ! It would be perfect.”

“What the fuck, Bev? I’m pretty sure you can’t plan those kinda things.”   
  


“Just get it over with! The first time always sucks, but then it just gets better.”

Richie shook his head. “I  _ can’t _ , Bev. Not tonight anyway. Eddie’s the drunkest he’s ever been.”

“You’re both drunk though! You’d be doing him a favor if you let him get the first time over with while he can’t feel anything.”

“That’s fucked up, Bev.” Richie knew that, even with nearly a whole six pack in him. “That’s really fucked up.”

She snorted out a laugh. “Maybe. I think we’re all a little bit too drunk.”

“Besides, Eddie wouldn’t want that. He’s special, y’know? He likes things to be special. He also likes to be in control of everything, so…”

Bev rolled onto her back again. “So you want him controlling every little step of the process?  _ Pft _ . Sounds wack.”

“Maybe, but I’ll do it if it makes him comfortable. I didn’t mean it in a bad way, he just likes to know what’s going on.” Richie took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I love him so much, Bev. It’s crazy. I’m so in love with him I don’t even know what to do with myself anymore. I wanna take him away, so we don’t have to hide in this stupid town anymore. I want him to feel happy and safe.”

“So do it. You have one last year here, and then it’s off to whatever college you want. Make sure he picks a good one.”

Richie hummed and nodded. That sounded good. He wanted to move in with Eddie and take care of him, and make him breakfast in the morning and fall asleep with him at night. 

“Where do you want to take him?”

“Huh?”

“You have any particular city in mind?”

_ New York _ , he thought. That’s where they could be free. “Richieee!” Eddie stuck his head out from under the clubhouse. “ _ Richie _ , come back down here please!”

“What’s up, Spaghetti?” He sat up from his spot next to Bev.

“We’re playing truth or dare! Hurry up, Chie!”

“Oh, I  _ so _ got you,” Bev grunted.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Richie stood and waited for her to follow along.

“It means I’m gonna get you laid tonight.” She slapped him on the back. “Just make sure you pick dare.”

Richie sighed. He wasn’t usually the one to suck the fun out of everything, but he wasn’t ready for that and neither was Eddie. And he thought he might actually be able to get through the night without Bev daring Richie to suck Eddie’s dick or some dumb shit like that, but in the end Bill was the one to dare Eddie into giving Richie a lap dance. Stan punched him for that because “why the hell would you want to watch that?” 

Eddie insisted on it though and crawled into Richie’s lap, giggling and stumbling. It was embarrassing and weird that all their friends were just watching and laughing, especially because Richie already had an awkward boner to begin with.  _ Fuck that _ . “Sit still, or I’m fucking leaving, Eds.” Face in his hand, he was grateful for the effects of alcohol on the human body.

Eddie only laughed and swung his legs over the armrest of Richie’s chair. 


	6. Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes this one has a lot of CWs:  
> uh, some intense making out? hickeys? that’s as explicit as this fic gets, stan makes a pretty insensitive gesture in reference to EDs, more coming out, hate crime/queer violence (if you can handle the opening scene of it ch2, you can probably handle this, events are not described explicitly, only the aftermath), in depth descriptions of blood, anxiety, beginnings of trauma/nightmares, Richie makes another reference to pill popping, references to depression

“I can’t believe he actually agreed to wear that,” Stan snorted. “He’s like, trapped now.”

“It’s not like they’re married,” Bev rolled her eyes. “Besides, Richie’s a catch.”

Stan all but cackled, and Richie rolled his eyes this time. “Fuck you, Stan. I’m beautiful.”

“Mhm…”

“I promise we’ll start in  _ five minutes _ ,” their teacher called. “Everyone get your books open to last night’s reading!” She always started class late, and she said five minutes, but it’d probably be closer to ten.

“So what are we doing for Halloween?”

“Bev, we have a whole month.”

“Stan, if you want this year to be awesome, then we need to start planning  _ now _ .”

“I’m guessing you already have your costume then?” Richie raised an eyebrow.

“Of course I do! I’m being Chucky for obvious reasons.”

Richie snorted, and Stan smirked. 

“So what are you two going to be?”

Stan shrugged. “Does it matter? We’re just gonna go out and get drunk anyway.”

“I’m with Stan.”

“You guys are  _ lame _ . I hope you two aren’t too lame to not show up to the football game on Friday. Because me, Ben, and Mike are going, so that means you two and Eddie and Bill have to come too.”

“Friday’s date night, so Eddie’s gonna be pissed, but I’ll try to convince him.”

Needless to say, Eddie was pissed. He was pissed up until the very day when Bill picked them all up, and he and Richie were squashed in the trunk of Bill’s car headed to the game. And then he was still pissed as they found their seats in the bleachers. Richie didn’t understand football games, so he wasn’t all that thrilled with being there either, but Eddie was thoroughly peeved, sitting with his arms crossed and a pout on his face. “It’s cold,” he grumbled.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have worn shorts, Eds. You yelled at me to stop wearing them weeks ago.”

“Okay, but that’s different.” Richie sighed and pretended to be frustrated as he lifted his sweatshirt over his head and handed it Eddie. “Thank you,” he practically sang. 

“You still mad?”

“ _ Yes _ .”

“Bev promised we could have this Saturday to ourselves.”

“But that means that I have to wait a whole other day, Richie.”

“Maybe not,” Richie shrugged. “You can come over tonight and then we can do something tomorrow during the day.”

“I guess.”

“And then you can stay over tomorrow night  _ again _ .”

“Don’t flatter yourself too much, Richie.”

He snorted out a laugh. If Richie were being honest, he’d much rather be at home with Eddie, listening to music and laying in bed. But instead he was stuck here in the cold watching something that didn’t really make sense to him surrounded by a bunch of people that he either didn’t know or didn’t like. 

They only made it fifteen minutes in before Eddie was pulling Richie up the bleachers. “I need to go to the bathroom,” he’d said, but the bathrooms were down the bleachers. The top of the seating area led out to a large open field, mostly used for gym class and occasionally used for baseball practice. 

“Gonna take a piss on first base, Eds?”

“No, idiot.” He took a seat in the middle of the field. It was dark, and the only light that shone on them were the distant flood lights from the football field. A few smaller ones lined the bleachers, but they were too far away to provide any substantial illumination in their direction. “I just want to be alone. We’re in school all week, y’know? And I love our friends, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes I just want to be  _ alone _ . Sometimes socializing just becomes too much, and I’d rather stay in. That’s why I like Fridays.”

Richie hummed because he understood, and Eddie took his hand, drawing imaginary circles into his knuckles. “What about me? You’re not alone if you’re with me.”

“You don’t count,” Eddie mumbled. “I don’t have to make any effort around you. I can be sleepy and lay down and not feel rude. Like, what the fuck? It’s not my fault they want to hang out and stay out late after I’ve worked hard all week.”

Richie laughed, and Eddie played with the ring on his middle finger, twisted it off and on, tapped at the metal with his short nails. “So what do you wanna do? Ditch?”

“No, that’s mean. We said we’d come, so we’re staying. And technically we’re still here, we’re just not watching the game. I just want to be alone for a little while, is that okay?”

“Like… _ alone _ alone or alone with me?”

Eddie smiled and pulled Richie down into the grass. “Alone with you, stupid.”

“You think anyone can see us?” Richie hugged Eddie close, let his hand rest at the small of his back, fingers just grazing under the sweatshirt. Eddie was warm and soft there.

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “but I wanna kiss you.”

Richie hummed in agreement and squeezed gently at Eddie’s hip. “It’s probably not a good idea though, is it?”

“But if nobody can see us then what does it matter?” Eddie swung a leg over Richie’s, so his knee pressed between his thighs. He always did that, moved in too close, and it drove Richie wild. Then he reached up with a finger to tug at the collar of Richie’s shirt, and Eddie pressed a soft kiss to his neck. “I’m so in love with you, Richie. I don’t know why that’s such a problem. We’re not bothering anyone.”

“Maybe one day it won’t be, S’ghetti.”

Eddie let out a short, frustrated grunt before he wiggled his way up Richie’s body, half his weight pressed into Richie and the other half in the grass. “I don’t want to wait for that day to come, Richie.” He dragged his lips against Richie’s, timid, testing the waters. “I want to love you and not be sorry about it.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more, Eds.” He played with the curls at the nape of Eddie’s neck, twirled them around his finger before tugging faintly, moved to run his fingers along Eddie’s cheek, carefully, gently as if not to disturb him.

But Eddie giggled and took hold of Richie’s fingers. “Your hands are cold.”

“Well maybe if you didn’t steal my sweater…” Richie chewed on the inside of his cheek and thought. “You know, Eds, my lips are pretty cold too. Think you should warm ‘em up a little.” He only debated for a fraction of a second whether or not he should’ve said that, but whatever the outcome of that may be, it got Eddie to laugh. So Richie already won.

“You’re the biggest loser,” he snickered, but leaned in to kiss Richie anway. He pulled Eddie in impossibly closer, one hand wrapped around his back and the other pressed firm into his cold thigh. Richie knew this was a bad idea, that they were being stupid and reckless, but that didn’t change the fact that Eddie was right. They should love unapologetically. They knew that. The problem was getting everyone else to see it the same way. “Richie…” Eddie mewled.

Richie only grunted as he mouthed at the column of Eddie’s throat. 

“Maybe we should slow down.” There was no weight to his words though. He moved in closer, arching his back, legs shifting over Richie’s. 

“What’s wrong, Eds?” he teased, smiling against Eddie’s neck. “Scared I’ll leave a mark?”

“Yes, actually. My mom will throw a tantrum. She does every time.”

Richie only chuckled before latching onto Eddie’s skin again. “All she thinks we do is fuck, Eds. I’m sure she won’t mind a few love bites.” And Eddie made no attempt at pulling away or getting up, so Richie continued, muffling the edge of Eddie’s jaw with his lips before gingerly pulling at the skin there with his teeth. “Besides…think it’s too late.”

When Eddie had enough, he nuzzled into Richie’s chest. He could feel Eddie rub up against his hip as he adjusted in between his arms. Thinking about it only turned Richie on even more, and maybe that was lame, but he didn’t care. He liked making Eddie feel good, happy, it made Richie happy, and he didn’t think it was stupid for that to turn him on.

They laid there for a little while longer, looking up into the dark and allowing their bodies to cool down, trying to find constellations in the mess of stars above and not having much luck. Eddie pulled his hood up when it was time to go back to their friends, and Richie was almost disappointed when he glanced over and could barely see his work. 

The rest of the week, Eddie would show up to school in a sweatshirt, overheat throughout the day, and end up taking it off by lunch. Richie couldn’t stop himself from staring, and neither could the rest of their friends. Eddie and Richie had spent the rest of the weekend together as promised, and as a result, Eddie’s neck was smattered with a lovely array of pinks and purples. Richie had some himself, but his were lower, covered by his t-shirt, and he couldn't decide if that made him angry or not. “On one hand, there’s nothing linking me to the crime,” he said, “but on the other hand, there’s nothing linking me to the crime.”

“Richie, you’re crazy. It looks like you mauled him. God, I’m sorry, Eddie.” Stan stared wide eyed along with Ben. “Must’ve been torture.”

“Fuck you, I’m a great kisser.” Richie kicked Stan under the table, and Stan kicked him back twice as hard. “ _ Ow _ , fuck. You’re just jealous, Staniel.”

“First of all, don’t fucking call me that. Second, why the fuck would I be jealous of Eddie?”

“Fuck you, Stan!” Eddie squealed, face going red.

“Come on, I think we all know that I’m not into him that way, Eddie. Nothing against you, everything against him.” Stan shook his head and turned back to Richie. “And third of all, don’t fucking call me that, dipshit.” He made a show of sticking his tongue out pretending to gag himself. “Eddie, I’m on your side here. I wouldn’t want that gap toothed mess anywhere near me. There’s no telling what he might do.”

“Kinda sounds like an invitation, Staniel.” Richie grinned and raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Trashmouth.”

Richie snorted. “Haven't heard that one in a while.”

The fact of the matter was, Richie could (probably for a week) go without kissing Eddie if it meant that he got to keep the small things. The small things meaning the way Eddie might not always laugh at his stupid jokes and nicknames and impressions, but no matter what kind of snarky comment might follow, they always made Eddie smile at the very least. The small things meaning the way Eddie liked to play with Richie’s fingers and trace invisible drawings all along his skin, the way he loved  _ all _ of Richie, all six feet of gangly mess. The small things meaning the way Eddie said, “I love you”, always spoken like they were the most precious and perfect words he’d ever uttered, but still his cheeks never failed to dust over with a hazy pink tint every time he said it. 

Richie was so absolutely head over heels in love with Eddie that it hurt him. He thought that the ache in his chest might go away when he told Eddie that he loved him, said the words out loud, but it only amplified. His need to uphold Eddie’s happiness and absolutely destroy anything that made his smile falter swelled by the very second, pushing out on his ribs until eventually, they might crack.

~*~

That Saturday, Richie was getting ready to meet up with everyone in town. Bill told everyone that they could walk this time because his car was running on empty, and he didn’t feel like paying for more gas. All things considered, he was in a good mood. Eddie had just stayed over last night, only going home for a shower and a change of clothes before they went back out. Richie had done the same and made his way down into the kitchen, opened the fridge and stared for a solid minute or two before giving up. They were going out to eat anyway.

“Richie? Honey?” There was a rather forced sweet lilt to her voice.

“What’s up, Mags?” he sighed as he closed up the refrigerator. 

“Can we talk?” She leaned one hand on the dining room table top as the other daintily held up her wine glass. 

“Uh…” He narrowed his eyes because seventeen long years had passed them by and not once had those words come out of her mouth. “I’m going out to meet up with some friends, can it wait?”

“I suppose it could, but I’d prefer that it didn’t.”

If he had to take a guess, he’d say that it was too difficult for her to work up the courage to ask a second time later on down the road, too weird to bring up again after it'd already been brought up once before. “Make it quick, I guess.” 

“Take a seat?” she offered, sitting down herself. Her words were uncertain, and Richie could feel her discomfort.

“Doesn’t sound like you’re gonna be making this quick,” he chided but pulled out a seat anyway, crossing his arms over his chest. He was already running late and was now getting impatient.

“Richie, Dear. I just want you to know that your father and I love you very much.”

He couldn’t stop the snort that pushed out from his chest. “Is that all, Mags? I think it would’ve been easier to just—”

“Richie, I  _ know _ .”

His brows knitted together. “You know what?”

“I know about you and Eddie.”

He shook his head, and the pounding in his chest no longer came as a surprise however unwelcome it was. “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“You think I don’t pay attention, Richard, but I do! I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at him since you were just kids!” She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and plastered that fake smile back on her lips. “I just want you to know that if you’re happy, I’m proud of you.”

“That’s a good one, Mags. Get that out of one of your magazines?” He stood and hurried to grab his jacket because this was bullshit. She didn’t get to ignore him for seventeen years and then suddenly come at him with that  _ I’m-proud-of-you _ shit. It was fake anyway, all fake. He could tell from the way she struggled to get each word out. Fuck that. Fuck her. Richie stopped blaming himself for what happened to Rachel years ago—pretty pink dress and little bow—even if his parents never did. He pulled the sweatshirt over his head, and the phone rang loud from the kitchen. “Wanna get that, Mags? Could be Jerry Springer ready to hand out the next mom of the year award.”

She pursed her lips at him but stood and answered the phone with a gentle  _ hello _ . She then held out the landline as far as she could without tugging too tight on the cord. “It’s for you, Richard.” 

Only Eddie ever called him, but he should’ve already been with the rest of their friends. He pressed the phone to his ear anyway. “Yeah?”

“Richie! Hey, man. Where the fuck are you?”

“Uh, Stan? I’m at home…obviously. You called—”

“Okay, yeah. Great, shut the fuck up. Uh, there’s been a change of plans. Get over to Bill’s, alright? Wait no, Bill is going to come get you, okay? He’s leaving now. He actually already left.”

“Okay. Mind telling me what’s going on, Stan?”

“I think maybe you should just hurry over here.” 

“I can’t do that if Bill is the one picking me up.”

There was a shake to his voice, something he’s never heard from Stan’s usual monotonous apathy. “Right. Fuck, yeah. Please wait for Bill.” Something had gotten to him.

“Stan, what’s wrong?”

“Shit, okay. Eddie’s hurt, alright? We brought him back to Bill’s, but he just really wants you.”

Richie’s heart sunk all the way to the pit of his stomach. He could feel it there, his heart beat, he could feel it in his stomach, in his arms and legs, in his face. Each pump of blood from his chest pulsed through the tiny veins under his cheeks, in his head. “What happened, Stan?”

“Just hurry, okay?”

“Stan, no. Let me talk to him. I—”

“Bill will be there soon, Richie, okay? It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” Stan stayed on the phone with him until Bill got there, leaning on the horn of his car twice before Richie ran out. Maggie almost seemed worried, but she didn’t bother to pry.

Bill hurried back home. It was quiet until Richie spoke up. “Why didn’t you just let me walk?”

“It w…w…w-d’ve taken too long.”

“Bullshit, Bill. You didn’t want to drive tonight.” He reached a hand behind his head, tugging at his hair until it hurt too much. “Is Eddie that bad? It’s got you  _ that _ scared?”

Bill sighed, and his whole body shook with the motion. “Didn’t w…w…  _ shit _ . Didn’t like the idea of you outside alone.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Let Eddie explain.” Bill pulled into his driveway, and as soon as the car stopped, Richie moved to get out, but Bill grabbed him by the arm. “Richie.” His eyes looked sad and scared, and maybe there was a little bit of pity to the way they glassed over. “Richie, it’s not good. Okay? Just…be prepared is all.”

Richie bit down on his lower lip to keep from crying because the hammering against his ribs was getting to be too much, and he hadn’t even seen Eddie yet. He didn’t waste time hurrying inside. There, he saw Stan and Mike sitting in the front room. Silence filled the air, stagnant and stale. Then a faint crying out sounded from up the stairs. “Guest room,” Stan nodded, and Richie ran, skipping a step in between each pace. When he swung the door open, he saw Bev and Ben sitting on the bed in front of Eddie. He’d curled up on himself, legs pulled tight to his chest and his face buried in his knees. The chain that held the ring Richie had given to him sat snapped, broken in his hand. Everytime one of them tried to talk to him, he shook his head, sniffled, and let out an unsteady, “ _ Richie _ .”

Richie swallowed hard and kept his composure the best he could before sitting on the bed. He placed a careful hand on the back of Eddie’s neck, but Eddie shrunk in on himself, shoving Richie’s hand away. “ _ Don’t _ .” He picked his head up, and Richie dug his nails into his pants because it was absolutely awful. Richie forced himself to look.

“Eddie. Hey, Eds. It’s just me. It’s Richie.”

His bloodied lip trembled, and his swollen, bruised eyes blinked at Richie. He reached out a nervous, jittery hand, and Richie took it.

“Why didn’t you clean him up, Bev? You know how uncomfortable he probably is. Why didn’t you—”

“He didn’t want any of us touching him, Richie…” Bev sighed.

“And we only just got here a couple minutes before you did,” Ben added.

“Go get, uh…” he shook his head, moving Eddie’s hair out of his face, some strands already crusted over and stuck in dried, bloody clumps around his forehead and cheeks. “Towels, and water, and, uhm…some rubbing alcohol. Please.”

Bev and Ben jumped off the bed and scurried out of the room.

“What happened to my Eddie? Huh? What happened, love?” He smoothed a gentle thumb over Eddie’s cheek, and when he winced, Richied pulled away, swallowed hard, licked his lips. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. The thrumming in his chest was becoming too overwhelming, and it threatened to poke and prod at him until it eventually spilled over. It overflowed on his tongue and through his eyes, and when Bev came back with supplies, Richie could barely see a couple inches in front of him anymore.

He blinked through it all though, and with shaking hands and the pounding in his chest still tangible in his fingertips, he cleaned up Eddie, scrubbed the blood off his face and pressed rubbing alcohol into his cuts and scrapes. He tried his best to remember all those times they fell in the woods as kids, the way Eddie would empty his fanny pack and patch everyone up, and Richie would just stand there and watch, making dumb jokes like  _ get in there Doctor K., you’re already balls deep into your best friend’s blood! Put your back into it! _

Right now he could smell the metallic iron each time he pressed the towel to Eddie’s face, could taste it in the air, felt it crawl along his tongue. “Ice, Bev,” he murmured, words barely there. “I need ice.” He took deep breaths, steadied himself, and worked up the courage to ask, “Anywhere else, Eds? Does it hurt anywhere else?”

Eddie only whimpered at first, but slowly extended his legs and motioned to his now unguarded stomach. 

“Can I see?”

Eddie hesitated to nod, but Richie lifted his shirt anyway, uncovering a deep, irritated red that stained his abdomen. 

“Shit. Eds.” He carefully splayed his fingers over the area. “You didn’t break any ribs, did you?”

“How am I supposed to know, Chie?” Eddie cried, and his breathing picked up again.

“No, no. It’s okay. Eddie, it’s okay.” Richie prompted him to lay down. “Take a deep breath for me, love. Okay? One big, deep breath.” And he did with minimal pain. “You’re okay, Eddie, alright? It’s gonna be okay.”

“No broken ribs?”

Richie shook his head and shifted to move closer to Eddie. “I don’t think so.” Beverly came in quietly, and Richie placed the ice gently over his Eddie’s eye. He sighed and carded his fingers through Eddie’s hair. Slowly, Richie could feel the tension in Eddie dissipate. After a long while, the smaller nudged at the cold on his face before rolling over, and, softly, delicately, he reached out for Richie’s leg, his small fingers curling sweetly into the denim of his pants. “Feeling better, Eds?”

He hummed. “Still hurts.”

“Did Bill or anyone give you anything?”

He shook his head carefully.

“Okay…” Richie took a deep breath. “I’ll go get—”

“ _ No _ , Richie,” Eddie groaned and held just a little tighter to Richie’s leg. “Stay.”

“You don’t wanna feel better?”

“Want you to stay.”

“Okay, I’ll stay if you tell me what happened.”

Eddie squeezed Richie’s leg again and shook his head. “No…”

“Why not, Eds?” Richie scratched gently at the back of Eddie’s head.

“Because.”

“Because?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Okay, okay.” Richie nodded to himself as Eddie closed his eyes getting ready for sleep. “At least tell me one thing. Was it Bowers?” 

Eddie said nothing.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

“ _ Richie _ .”

“Alright.” He laid down, sure that Bill and the Denbroughs wouldn’t mind if they stayed the night. “Okay, Eddie.” Except he couldn’t even attempt to sleep. He was exhausted, but his nerves kept him wide awake, the faded thrumming still prompt in his chest. Guilt hovered over him like a ghost looming over an old lover. He could’ve been there, could’ve helped, could’ve stopped it from happening. And he wondered why, even if he already knew the answer. Richie didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from killing Bowers the next time he saw him around, if he really was the one that did all this, and of course he was, even if Eddie wouldn’t say it. 

Eddie’s warm breath splayed even against Richie’s neck. He’d fallen asleep some time ago, but the unease that settled in Richie’s stomach kept him up for too long. Eventually, fatigue won over his anxieties, but shortly thereafter, right as he was on the cusp of sleep, he was jolted awake by Eddie’s not so gentle hands on his chest. “Richie,” he sobbed. “Chie,  _ please _ .”

He sat straight up, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to get his vision back quicker. They stung anyway from the lack of sleep, from being pulled from almost sleep, from panic and the subsequent exhaustion that followed. “What? Eds, what’s wrong?”

Eddie sniffled and rubbed his nose on the back of his hand. “I had a nightmare,” he sputtered.

Richie let out a sigh of relief. “Is that all, Eds?” He laid back down, a dull ache beginning to nest behind his eyes. “Come on, lay down. Go back to sleep.”

“But  _ Richie _ .” Eddie fisted the t-shirt under his fingers. 

Richie covered Eddie’s hand with his own. “But _ Eddie Spaghetti _ .”

His shoulders fell, and he tapped nervously at Richie’s chest. “It was about what happened,” he muttered.

Richie held his arm open for Eddie to lay down in. Eddie of course took the bait. “You wanna talk about it?” 

He shook his head though. “No.”

Richie loathed that, made him feel like Eddie actually held this against him even if he knew that was dumb. He knew this was when he could help, that he fucked up by not being there, but he could do everything that he could manage now. And Eddie wasn’t letting him. But he thought that maybe if he had been in Eddie’s position right now that he might not want to talk about it either. “Do you need anything?” Richie asked instead. “Water? Advil? A kiss?” 

Eddie laughed dryly, “A kiss would be nice.”

So Richie carefully pressed his lips to Eddie’s forehead. “Anything else, my love?”

He giggled. How could anybody not relish in the sound. “Maybe some Advil.”

“Coming right up, Dr. K.” Richie rolled out of bed, stole one more kiss, and then rummaged through the Denbrough’s bathroom before falling back into bed at a prompt 4 am. 

“Thank you.” 

Richie watched him throw three pills on his tongue. “Cool it with the pill popping, Eds. Those aren’t made of sugar.”

“Richie, it’s fine. It’s ibuprofen, not crack.” He sighed and nestled back into Richie’s side. “I’m going to tell you something, but you need to promise me something too.”

Richie took a deep breath. “Depends on what it is.”

“It was Bowers.”

“Coulda told you that much, Eds.”

“Okay…well now you need to promise.”

“Promise what? Bowers beat the shit outta you, I can’t just—”

“Promise you won’t do anything stupid.”

“Can’t promise that.”

“Richie,  _ please _ ?”

“You know I can’t, Eds.” He paused, and thought for a moment as waves of guilt lapped at his stomach. “If I was there, I would’ve kicked his ass.”

Eddie pursed his swollen lips, and Richie knew that he was holding back a snarky comment. “No, you wouldn’t have. Bev wouldn’t ever let you.”

“Pft. I’ll kick her ass too if I have to.”

Eddie huffed a laugh, and then sighed, breathed deeply into Richie’s collar bone. “You have a tendency to rush head first into things without thinking them through. I don’t want you to get caught up in something you can’t find your way out of.”

Richie couldn’t figure out if he wanted to crack a joke or cry. “Eds, he’s shit. He’s a piece of fucking shit. He doesn’t even deserve to look at you.” Richie could feel the shake, the flutter in the rise and fall of his own chest, and he hoped Eddie wouldn’t notice. 

“It’s not a big deal, Rich. He kicks all our asses.”

“I don’t care, Eds! If I was there—”

“Richie, stop it.”

“If I was there, it would’ve never happened.” It was silent for too long after that, and Richie held onto Eddie’s side a little tighter. 

“Well it happened, Richie,” Eddie finally spoke, hushed. “And there’s nothing we can do about it. You cleaned me up and took care of me. I’m fine. It could be a lot worse.”

“That’s no way to treat yourself, Eddie.”

“Why not? I spent my whole life thinking there’s something wrong with me, Richie, that the smallest scrape was an infection waiting to happen and a little bruise was a blood clot that I just didn’t know about. Richie, I’m  _ okay _ . I’m fine, I promise.”

“You promise?”

“I do.” Eddie took a deep breath, a gentle sigh that fanned out over Richie’s chest. “Do  _ you _ promise?”

“Eds…” Richie could feel the flutter in his heart now too.

“ _ Promise me _ , Richie.” Eddie scratched at Richie’s shoulder. “Promise me you’re not going to do anything dumb.”

“Fine.”

“You promise?”

Richie took a deep breath and let the air settle around them before answering. “Yeah. I promise.” He wasn’t happy with the decision, and he wasn’t proud of it. But Eddie was the one that needed a hug and kiss and his wounds tended to. Richie just needed to stop playing the victim.

“Good.” Eddie tugged absently at the sleeve of Richie’s t-shirt. “I can’t go home though. My mom would stick me in the hospital for a whole week. I’ll be poked and prodded like a lab rat until they force her out or I run away.” Eddie laughed dryly, but Richie ran a comforting hand along his shoulder.

“Fuck Sonia. I’ll take care of you, and I’ll do it better.”

So the next morning, Stan called Sonia and told her that Eddie would be staying over for the week. She always liked him best out of all of them, something about being morally sound because of his religious family. “I just need a break,” Eddie told her. “I’ll be fine. And yes, I have all my meds with me.” He picked at his fingernails, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder. “Yeah, Ma. They’re fine with it.”

Eddie and Stan were on the phone with her for a good half hour. She’d even asked to speak to Richie several times. “Richie’s not even here, Ma. I swear.” Which was a total lie, and she proceeded to scold him for swearing regardless of what it was on. When Sonia was done questioning Stan, he came to sit down next to Richie.

“I dunno how you two deal with her.”

“I don’t,” Richie snorted. “I didn’t even use the front door for the first couple of months.”

“You’re shitting me?”

“Swear to god. Now I only use the front door now ‘cause I know it pisses her off.”

Stan shook his head. “If I were you, I’d be doing everything in my power not to piss her off. But I guess that’s why I’m Stan and not Richie. I’m not the asshole.”

“Come on, Stanley. It’s fun pissing her off. She’s never gonna actually do anything about it. The woman’s all talk. Always has been, always will be. The only thing she ever had going for her was making Eddie think he was weaker than her.” 

“Guess you’re right.” Stan didn’t say anything after, but Richie couldn’t stop from staring at the bruise on Stan’s eye, and eventually he leaned forward, picking at his fingernails and stealing glancing at his face every once and a while. That should’ve been Richie. It should’ve been him. Not Stan, and not even Eddie. 

“Sorry,” he muttered after the silence had dragged on for too long. 

Stan shrugged. “For what?”

“You know for what.”

“Richie,” Stan sighed, “he may be your boyfriend, but he’s still one of my best friends, okay? Not just gonna let Bowers beat him up.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He didn’t even notice his leg bouncing and bouncing and bouncing in place. “But I should’ve been there for him.”

“Oh fuck off with that self righteous bullshit, Rich. Shit happens. Eddie’s gonna be fine. We were all there for him, and—”   
  


“Yeah, but I wasn’t.”

Stan shook his head. “Don’t beat yourself up over shit you can’t control, Richie. It’s not worth it. Trust me.”

Richie nodded and shut up because he didn’t want to argue. He knew about Stan, about his family and home and about how sad he was a couple years ago. It’s fucked up, really fucked up how sad some people can be at such a young age. Stan was fifteen when he first came to Richie and just started sobbing. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. Later on he would, and then he told Richie that if he told anyone else, he would make it his personal mission to castrate him. He was doing better now, at least Richie hoped he was. Stan didn’t really cry anymore, and he definitely never talked to Richie like he used to, so he took that as Stan feeling better. Thinking back, that was probably pretty flawed logic.

“Yeah. Alright, Stan.” 

The next week held very mixed emotions. Sometimes Richie cried, and sometimes Eddie cried. Other times Richie was pissed, telling Eddie that he really would kill Bowers if he ever saw him again. “I mean, he can’t just do shit like that and get away with it! I don’t give a fuck if his dad is President of the United fucking States.” 

And Eddie only grabbed him firmly by the face. “Richie, you fucking listen to me. If you stoop to Henry Bowers’s level, I will never forgive you. Understand?” Richie dropped it after that, and most other times he’d talk about how he wanted to take full advantage of their one week together. “We still have school, Rich,” Eddie would deadpan.

“Okay? Yeah? We got nights off, don’t we?”

“Yeah, but I’m also not here on vacation, I’m here because my mom will slaughter me if she sees me like this.”

Richie nodded, and somehow, he managed to make that seem sarcastic too. “Alright, alright. Just spit balling here…maybe you hide from your mom  _ and _ have sex with me at the same time. I’m pretty sure we could make it work, Eds.”

“A true genius.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “You don’t even wanna have sex, Tozier. You’re all talk.”

“Am not!” Richie hated to admit that his voice cracked even just slightly. 

“Look at you! You can’t even keep a straight face! You’re blushing like crazy, Rich. You definitely wouldn’t be able to handle sex.”

Richie quickly regained his composure. “Okay, tough guy. Since you’re so high and mighty, how many people have you fucked?”

Eddie shrugged. “None. We both know that, Richie. And we both know that the answer is the same for you. The difference between you and me, is that I’m not afraid to cut my losses.”

  
  



	7. Space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very much my favorite chapter of Part 1, I really, really love the way it turned out technique/skill/style wise. I hope you all enjoy it too :)
> 
> This chapter's CWs:   
> distasteful comment about AIDS, f*g used in reclamation kinda? it's sorta neutral, implied sex, fatphobia, racism, very small reference to physical abuse, queer slurs, verbal sexual harassment, references to police brutality, anxiety/attacks, police corruption, homophobia, internalized homophobia, implied sex

“If Bowers already knows, then who really gives a shit?” Richie tried to shrug it off, but the thought of the whole town knowing he was gay freaked him out a little bit. Actually, it freaked him out more than a little bit, quite a lot more. 

“Nobody reads that shit anyway. I only noticed because I saw your name,” Bev flicked the ashes off the end of her cigarette. They’d decided to ditch last period and go for a walk. Eddie had gone back home already, bruises mostly faded. “Only people like Greta Bowie even bother.”

“Yeah, and she’s the kinda bitch to tell everyone she sees.”

Bev had found cute little notes written about Richie in one of the girls’ stalls at school.  _ Richie Tozier sucks cock _ . Which, you know, he totally would, but he hadn’t. So technically it wasn’t even true. Another read:  _ Tozier has AIDS _ . That one was just fucked up, no way around it. She told him after the class they had together with Stan, the one they had following lunch. He had a little episode, the kind where he couldn’t control himself, his heart started pounding, and he got the insatiable urge to cry. He was pissed off his whole next class because he didn’t like having to deal with whatever the fuck that was in the first place, let alone in public. Before last period, Bev pulled him out one of the side doors. 

“You know,” she tapped a finger on her cigarette, “this little stick would probably do you wonders. You’re too stressed, Richie.”

“Are you kidding me?” He took a step back when Bev waved it at him. “If Eddie smells that shit on me, he’ll kill me. No thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” She shrugged, and they stopped at the Kissing Bridge only because Bev saw the sloppy  _ R _ and  _ E _ carved into the wood paneling. “Oh my god, Richie. You’re  _ disgusting _ .”

“You don’t know that was me.”

“Uh, yeah. I do, dipshit. This is  _ so _ something you would do,” she scoffed. “Look over there. A little  _ R _ carved into a heart. Bet that was Eddie’s.”

“Yeah, right. Definitely not something Eddie would do. Besides, that one’s been here for years.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Eddie’s  _ definitely _ above all that sappy bullshit.”

“Fuck off, Marsh. You’re not so innocent yourself.”

She raised a questioning eyebrow as they kept walking. “Elaborate, please.”

“Bev, Ben wrote you one stupid poem and you dropped to your knees.”

She let the butt of her cigarette slip between her fingers before stomping on it. “Suddenly I can’t hear.” 

~*~

“I can’t believe you really didn’t plan anything, Richie. You’ve had  _ months _ .” Eddie dragged him down the sidewalk to Bev’s. She only lived a couple blocks away from Richie, so they didn’t think much of it. “We’ve actually been invited to a party this year, and you were gonna show up in jeans and a t-shirt. Un- _ fucking _ -believable, Tozier.” 

Richie shrugged as Eddie banged on Bev’s front door. Her Aunt Peggy answered, taken aback by all the noise. “Oh! What’s got you boys so angry?” Bev always said that Peggy could be really annoying, like, bug-up-the-ass type of annoying, but most of the time she could be pretty cool. Richie would have to agree considering the only other option here was Alvin Marsh, and he was a total douchebag. “Don’t bring that kind of aggression up to my Beverly’s room!” she called out to them as they pushed past her.

“It’s okay, Peggy. We’re both raging fags,” is what Richie had wanted to say, “the one you really have to worry about is chubby up there,” but he bit his tongue. Of course, it was highly possible that everyone knew by now, but he wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up and make the room go quiet and strange. 

Bev was adding the finishing touches to her makeup, and Ben sat on her bed. “Marsh, please help me.” Eddie crossed his leather clad arms, stomping a foot. “This idiot doesn’t even have a costume for tonight.”

“Richie,” she snorted, not breaking eye contact with her reflection, “it’s Halloween, shithead.”

“Benny, she’s a real keeper. Talks just like the cute little lady she is.”

“Exactly why I like her,” Ben smiled.

“Suck a dick, Tozier.”

“Glady.” He fake curtsied at her.

Eddie hissed at him and punched him in the arm, not hard enough to do any real damage.

“I dunno what you want me to do, Kaspbrak.” She finished marking out one of the cuts on her face before shoving a bunch of makeup at them. “Here. Figure it out. I don’t have time for this.”

Eddie sat on the floor and wiggled his jacket off, muttering something about it being too tight and too hot. He’d done his hair up, reminiscent of when they were kids and he would slick it back, except a single Clark Kent curl hung in front of his forehead. He was supposed to be Danny from Grease, which Richie found ironic because Eddie was the furthest thing from the  _ assertively  _ macho hot guy archetype. Eddie liked  _ X-Men _ comics and  _ Star Wars _ movies, and he carried around a fanny pack with a rescue inhaler and meds he’d probably never use. Richie thought it was cute nonetheless. 

He settled across from Eddie on the floor before looking up at Ben. “What are you supposed to be?” 

Ben shrugged. “Andy. The kid from Chucky.” 

Richie’s brows knitted, and he had to genuinely take a minute to comprehend the situation he just walked into. “That’s the weirdest couple costume I’ve ever heard of.”

“Fuck off, Richie,” Bev muttered, “you don’t even have a costume.”

“Okay,” Eddie patted Richie’s knee a little more aggressively than he would’ve liked, just to get his attention. “I’m thinking a clown,” he seemed to be internally weighing his options.

“That’s perfect for him!” Bev cackled.

“Rude.”

Eddie snapped. “That’s exactly what I was thinking, Bev.”

“ _ Eddie _ !”

“Shut up and let me do your damn makeup, Richie. You’ve brought this upon yourself.” He scooted closer and dug into some of the leftover Halloween makeup that Beverly so graciously gifted them. “Glasses off. Bev, do you have a hair tie?” She flicked an elastic in their general direction, and Eddie stood on his knees to reach the top of Richie’s head. 

“Can’t you just be nice to me?” Richie snaked his arms around Eddie’s waist and pulled him into his chest. That only resulted in Eddie stumbling and yanking at Richie’s hair, but he rested his hands on Richie’s shoulders and maneuvered himself into Richie’s lap. 

“Fine.” Eddie cupped Richie’s face in his hands, brushing a few wild curls back behind his ear. “You’re absolutely adorable, you walking fucking tree.”

“I think you can still do better, Eds.”

Eddie’s little fingers brushed sweetly over Richie’s cheek, and Richie could see it in his eyes, in the way Eddie looked from his lips to his nose to his eyes and then back down again. He thought, he hoped anyway, that was the same expression he dawned when he looked at Eddie, like he was completely and utterly content with his place in the world, and the only thing that mattered was being able to hold each other. Richie was fully aware of how absolutely obnoxious that sounded, but it was true. Eddie was his world, he always had been, and Richie would love him until the day he died.

Their eyes met at equal level as Eddie sat properly in Richie’s lap. He leaned in and whispered a warm, “I love you,” before settling down to finally spookify Richie’s face. Richie made a habit of grabbing Eddie’s butt every couple of minutes only to have him push his hands away and mutter something under his breath about other people being in the room as a pink hue flashed profusely over his face, reached the tips of his ears and the back of his neck. It was the only way to get a reaction out of Eddie, crude jokes and an arm over the shoulder just didn’t do it anymore.

“It’s only Ben and Bev, Spaghettio. And neither of them are even paying attention.”

“Whatever,” Eddie grumbled and continued his concentration on making Richie scary.

“I heard my name,” Bev called out as Ben came to stand behind her, “if you’re talking shit about me, Tozier, I’ll kill you.”

“I think Eddie Spaghetti had dibs on killing me since the fifth grade, Bev. Then there’s Stan and probably Bowers. So sorry, but you’ll have to get in line.”

Eddie pressed his lips into a fine line, and Richie knew what that meant:  _ I want to say something, but it’s too mean, so for your sake, I won’t. You’re welcome, I love you, dipshit. _ It made Richie smile and laugh to himself just a little bit, just enough so Eddie could hear and get even more frustrated. “Close your eyes,” he mumbled instead and held on to the back of Richie’s head, fisting a good clump of Richie’s hair.  _ Ah, a kiss _ , Richie thought and happily complied but was disappointed when he felt a tiny brush poking at his eyes. He felt a little stupid for that one. “Almost done.” Eddie let go of his hair in favor of flicking the underside of Richie’s chin as he let out a little sigh. “Up. Look up.”

“Of course, anything for you, my love.”

Eddie just shook his head, still Richie could see the smile playing at his lips as Eddie so desperately tried to cover it up.  _ Cute _ . “Why’s your nose so big?”

“Ah, yes. Just what I wanted a boyfriend for, to help me discover new insecurities about myself,” he scoffed as Eddie blotted his nose. “I dunno, Eds. Genetics, probably.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, asshole.” Then under his breath, he muttered, “I like your nose. Anyway,” he picked up again, scrambling to get out of Richie’s lap, “it’s done.” Eddie could be a real dick sometimes, but so could Richie. He wondered if that’s why they clicked so well, or if all the headassery could eventually build and build until it eventually unloaded itself in complete and utter chaos among them all. Richie liked to think it was the former, but an explosion of absolute chaos sounded cool too.

“Thanks, Spaghettio. You’re a lifesaver.” He came behind Bev to look himself over in the mirror and was surprised to see how much of a good job Eddie had done. “Wow, Eds. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have some experience with makeup. The hair is a bit much though.” He ripped the elastic out and tossed it on Bev’s desk before putting his glasses back on to get a better look.

“Everyone knows we’re gay now, Rich. Those jokes have lost a lot of their flavor.”

Bev finished her own makeup and took a look at Richie and was taken aback if only for a split second. “Huh, if it were my choice, I would’ve made a total fool out of you, Richie. But Eddie actually made you kind of terrifying.”

Richie nodded. He didn’t look like himself, and he wasn’t sure how a little bit of facepaint was able to do that, but it did—white all over, with a red nose and chelsea smile that extended all the way through his eyes. It was different…new, it made him feel different for some odd reason that he couldn’t quite put his finger on and ultimately chalked up to him finally getting into the Halloween spirit.

They met up with Stan, Bill, and Mike at the party. Richie wasn’t quite sure who’s it was, but he also wasn’t the one invited. Technically, Mike, Bev, and Stan were invited, and Bill, Ben, Richie, and Eddie were just tagging along. “What if they don’t want us there?” Bill had asked.

“Tough shit,” Bev shrugged. “Amy Hoffmann should’ve thought of that before only inviting half a friend group. Didn’t even have the courtesy to invite my fuckin’ boyfriend, the bitch.”

Eddie and Richie both agreed that they weren’t going to get drunk that night, at least not so drunk that they couldn’t handle themselves. It wasn’t the time or place to be getting careless, especially not with the fresh, totally true rumors spreading about them. And for a good portion of the night, they abided by their promise to each other, sat on the couch in the living room and started up conversation between themselves, the only sober people there, as they sipped their beer. Ugh, sipping beer, who the fuck  _ sips _ beer? 

That got old pretty quickly though because being the only not drunk people at a highschool party was fucking lame, and after a while, you just start to feel like some kind of pretentious asshole. So Richie said fuck it, and Eddie went along for the ride, and about a half hour later they found themselves in the upstairs bathroom with the door locked. “S’is stupid, Chie…” Eddie hiccupped but slid his sticky hands up Richie’s shirt anyway, dragging his blunt fingernails over his chest and around his back.

Richie had his face buried in Eddie’s neck, and his hands pulled Eddie’s hips closer. “Is it?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, his knee slipping between Richie’s.

“Why?”

Eddie let out a soft grunt, almost a whine. “You know…”

Richie shook his head before biting down on Eddie’s collar bone. “I don’t.”

“Fuckin’ idiot…” Eddie wrapped loose, gentle, if not tipsy fingers around Richie’s neck, guiding his face back up to meet Eddie’s. And then he just stared. Richie looked strange—smudged red around his mouth and nose fading into pink around the edges, his eyelids almost rubbed clean with streaky whites and orange. Still, he was undeniably Richie, and more importantly he was Eddie’s Richie. He didn’t want to have to hide anymore, and part of Eddie thought they only were because of themselves, nobody was stopping them from holding hands in public or having sex in some random girl’s bathroom. Eddie wanted that. He wanted Richie. He wanted all of Richie all the time no matter the consequences.

Stupid is what that was. Stupid and reckless, but he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. Eddie shrugged off his jacket and let it fall to the floor, and he had to be pretty fucking drunk because he never would have let that happen if he was sober. Bathrooms were one of the dirtiest rooms in a house. But then he pulled himself close again, close enough so that he could feel Richie pressed flush against him.

He didn’t care if anyone heard. If Eddie were being honest with himself, part of him wanted others to hear, wanted everyone to know that he was Richie’s. He wanted Julia fucking Clein to finally get her whore eyes off of Richie because she finally heard him fucking Eddie’s brains out at Amy Hoffmann’s Halloween party. Normally Eddie wouldn’t give a shit, but Julia made it her sole purpose to sleep with every kind of guy at their school, and Richie was just the right kind of dorky for her. She probably thought his glasses and big, gapped teeth were ugly, that his long, awkward arms and legs were weird and gangly, and that was all part of the plan because he was just weird enough but not too weird that she didn’t want to fuck him. 

And Eddie had to call fucking bullshit because those were all of his favorite things about his boyfriend. He thought it was so totally  _ Richie _ that his dentist father forced him to get braces in the seventh grade, and when he finally got them off, he refused to wear his retainer solely to spite Went (but he also just forgot a lot). His teeth shifted back into a big gap, front and center, and Richie found it absolutely fucking glorious. He was weird and obnoxious and sometimes too loud, but fifth grade Eddie found himself absolutely enamored by that and oftentimes tried to out-loud Richie. Richie was the continuous  _ Eds _ and  _ Spaghetti _ and  _ Doctor K. _ (on the right occasion), and Eddie had hated all of them because really they only made him melt deeper and deeper into Richie. 

For a long time, that scared him. But now, he wanted so desperately to be proud, not just because he was gay and okay with that, but because he was so in love with Richie that it hurt, that it genuinely made him want to weep. He wanted to show that off, wanted to wear not only Richie’s ring but Richie’s marks too.

Eddie kissed Richie’s lips softly as his shaky fingers pressed into the back off his neck, shaky because something needed to come out of him, something was itching and scratching to claw its way out, and if it didn’t Eddie would just about explode. “I want you, Richie,” he whispered, voice breaking, breath splaying anywhere and everywhere that was Richie.

Eddie helped Richie neaten up his makeup before they left the bathroom, and they left probably a little too close, Richie’s arm settled lazily around Eddie’s shoulders. People gave them dirty looks when the door opened, and Eddie knew it was because they’d just hogged one of the only bathrooms in the house for a good half hour and not because they were two guys that locked themselves away for too long. “Was that stupid of us?” Richie asked, but he laughed afterward like he didn’t really care to hear the answer either way. 

“Probably,” Eddie giggled himself as he took hold of Richie’s hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing the ring on his middle finger. “But who fucking cares, right?”

Richie hummed, a content smile settled easily on his lips. “Right.” 

“It’s about fucking time you two made an appearance.” Stan, dressed as John from  _ The Breakfast Club _ , stood leaning over the kitchen counter with a red solo cup in his fingerless-gloved hand. Mike, dressed in his baseball uniform (dumb and unoriginal, if you asked Eddie), and Bill, dressed as Bono complete with the slicked back hair and dark sunglasses (dumb and a poor taste in music, if you asked Richie), accompanied Stan.

Eddie smiled at Stan, reached up to give his straightened hair a little tossle. “I like this look on you.” Richie tried to ignore the way Stan seemed to get choked up by Eddie’s touch, and he blamed the flush in Stan’s cheeks on the alcohol.

“Uh,” Stan cleared his throat. “I think Bev wants to get out of here sometime soon. Something about Greta being a bitch.”

“Shit,” Richie sighed, “what’d she do this time?”

Stan shrugged. “Mike was there when it happened.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Do I really have to get into this?” He used his baseball bat as a crutch, leaning up against the butt as the head sat steadily on the tile.

“Fuck yeah, you do. What’d the bitch say?”

“She was just trying to start a fight,” he shook his head, shrugging. “She called me a couple names, asked what I was really doing here as the only Black guy in Derry, and when Ben told her to fuck off, she snorted at him and called him a, and I quote, ‘fat fuck’. Bev punched her once before we pulled her away.”

“Shoulda let her keep going,” Richie scoffed, and took the drink that Eddie just poured for himself. “She woulda dragged Greta’s ass no problem.”

Eddie grabbed the cup back from Richie, and they fought for it just a little before Richie let go and it spilled over Eddie’s hands. “ _ Gross _ ,” he whined and took a sip from the cup anyway. 

Bev came stomping through the kitchen with Ben in tow. “Finally! Jeez, where  _ were _ you guys?” Richie only chuckled in response, and Bev shook her head, “Whatever, I don’t wanna know. We’re out of here though. Fuck that bitch. You guys don’t have to come with us, but  _ we’re _ not staying.”

Stan shrugged, and the rest of them looked around the party, searching for anything that might make them want to stay. “There’s not much here for us anyway.”

They were all used to getting teased and made fun of, getting called names. The only real threat they faced was Bowers because he was the only one in this town actually willing to throw a punch, but then again, he was severely outnumbered now that his gang had left home. All they had to do was stick together—that’s what they’ve known since they were kids. “Let’s get outta here then,” Bev huffed and turned firmly on her heels to stalk out of the house. Just because they all got names thrown at them, didn’t make it any less infuriating when it happened.

So they ended up wandering the streets of Derry, between townhomes and then up by Main Street. Richie, Bev, and Stan took immense joy in making a couple of kids nearly shit themselves by jump scaring, and Richie pawned off a couple of candy bars from a few others. Eventually, they discovered what it was that kept them at Amy’s party: the alcohol. By the time midnight rolled around, the buzz started to fade and a dull headache settled in Richie’s temple. “Fuck this,” he muttered, when they found themselves with nothing to do but walk, and all the little kids had retreated inside for a night of swapping candy. “Bev, can you get us anything?”

She shrugged. “Is it worth it?”

“Uh,  _ yeah _ it’s worth it. Either that or I’m headed home. There’s nothing else to do.”

“Aw, what’s wrong,” Bev cooed, “can’t have any fun without beer?”

“ _ Pft _ , says you.” Richie thought briefly about what it might be like to raid his parents’ stash. It would probably feel great until the next morning when he had to actually face Went. Maggie wouldn’t ever lay a finger on him, but Went practically sought out excuses to go off on him. So his house was off limits. “Well, do you have any bright ideas, Marsh?”

She was quiet for a long while, and then she just shrugged, “There might be some leftovers at the clubhouse?”

Stan jumped in this time, “I’m not going all the way to the clubhouse just for a  _ possibility _ of  _ leftovers _ . Shit’s probably been baking down there since summer.”

They all got trapped in a half stupor while trying to think of what to do or where to go, so none of them saw it coming when Bowers strode right up to them, grabbing Eddie by the shirt and pushing him to the ground. “D’you file a fuckin’ police report on me, fag? Huh? Idiot, you know my dad’s—”

“Watch it!” Richie pushed back at him and took a few defensive steps in front of Eddie. “You got a lot of fucking nerve coming up to us like that. Where’s your gang, Bowers? Huh? Get the fuck out of here, man!”

Bowers shoved his palm in Richie’s chest. “ _ You _ watch it. You’re little gay boy toy over here thinks he’s funny tryin’a get me in trouble.”

Eddie stood. “I didn’t do shit!” He tried to wiggle his way in front of Richie, but he wouldn’t let him. “Probably got me confused with one of the  _ other _ fags you like to beat up.”

Bowers let out a dry laugh, a sly smirk crept onto his face. “Nah, you two are the only real fags in this town. We all know that.”

Richie could feel the panic start to build up in his chest despite the alcohol not fully working its way through his system yet. It pooled in the pit of his stomach, rising slowly into his throat, but something akin to off kilter anger sat there too, followed it up his diaphragm. “Say it again, Bowers.” It gave him a strange kind of rush of energy, something like a buzzing numbness. “I dare you to say it again, fucker.”

“Richie,” Bev spoke up from behind them, “don’t. He’s not worth—”

“ _ You’re both fuckin’ faggots _ .” 

Richie could see it, the pure rage in his eyes. For as long as he could remember, he always saw the hatred and heat and wondered what was going on between Henry Bowers’ ears that would allow that to manifest. Now, as he stared him down, he could see just a flicker of fear, of sadness. But then Richie thought back to what he’d done to Eddie not even three weeks ago, his black eye and busted lip, a bruise that splayed over a good six square inches of his abdomen, and Richie couldn’t bring himself to give a shit. Before he could think twice, he reached behind himself to grab for Mike’s baseball bat and swung it in Bowers’ direction. 

Bowers took a couple steps away, almost seemed to back down as a chorus of  _ whoa _ ’s and  _ oh-shit _ ’s sounded from around them. “Richie,” Eddie hissed in his ear and yanked at his shoulder. “Richie, don’t fucking do it.”

He wasn’t going to back down now though. He couldn’t. Bowers deserved everything that he’d ever thrown at them and more. “Say it again, Bowers. See what fucking happens, you little bitch.” He could tell Henry was actually mulling over the idea. “ _ Say it the fuck again _ .”

Bowers huffed before spitting on the ground in front of him, looking from Richie to Eddie and then back again. “You’re just a bunch of no good fags.” He turned to Eddie, looked him up and down as he palmed his crotch, “Bet the little one wouldn’t mind if I shoved my—”   
  
Richie swung as hard as he could. The loud ting of metal against bone sounded as the bat collided with Bowers’s skull, and he went down. A sticky red stained the side of Mike’s bat, and as Richie looked down at the sputtering body lying beneath him, he thought for the first time that he understood the same feeling of utter rage and hate that Bowers had always felt for them. Complete contempt, except Richie had a damn good reason for it. He lifted the bat over his head and attempted the drown out the screaming and yelling behind him.

If it wasn’t for Stan grabbing his arm, Richie would’ve swung again. He would have. “The fuck are you  _ doing _ , man?” He pried the bat out of Richie’s hands and pushed him away from Bowers with both hands, full force. “Fucking hell.” Stan ran a hand through his hair as he looked down at what Richie had done.

Richie stuttered, “He deserved it.”

“I don’t give a shit, Rich! You could’ve fucking  _ killed _ him.”

“And he would’ve deserved that too.”

“Great, sure! Maybe he would! But you’re not going to jail before you’re even eighteen, Richie. Not on my watch.” Stan took a deep breath, and huffed out audibly on the exhale, “ _ Fuck _ .” It was quiet then as they all tried to catch their breath. Richie turned to Eddie then. He stood there looking down at Bowers, a hand over his mouth and his brows knitted tightly together. 

“You okay, Eds?”

He only shook his head at first before throwing his hands up in the air and slamming them back down into his thighs. Then, in a tired, strained voice, he looked to Richie and said, “The fuck is wrong with you?”

Richie, for the first time in his life, was at a loss for words. “I just… I couldn’t let anything happen to you again. I—”

“You  _ what _ , Richie?” Eddie shoved him in the chest. “You  _ what _ ? There are seven of us here, you fucking  _ idiot _ !” He was screaming, and Richie knew that Eddie had felt it too, all the rage and the hate. And for that, Richie retreated inward, shrunk down because it wasn’t what Henry had done that made Eddie feel that way. “What was he gonna do that the seven of us wouldn’t have been able to handle without making him bleed out on the fucking sidewalk, Richie?”

He was scared. Eddie was making him scared. “I didn’t think you cared so much about what happened to Henry Bowers.” It sounded condescending, but Richie couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“I  _ don’t _ .” Eddie’s lips pressed firmly together, and his nostrils flared with every other word. Fury settled deep behind his eyes. “I told you I’d never forgive you, Richie.” That fury quickly washed over with something of mourning, melancholy, absolute betrayal. “I  _ told _ you,” he pushed Richie again, all force in the shove drained and weak, “and you did it  _ anyway _ .” Eddie balled his fists at his sides, white knuckled, like he was building up for the final blow. But then he released the tension in his body and made his way down the sidewalk without another word.

Richie called after him and made the first couple of strides to follow, but Stan stepped in front of him. “Don’t.  _ You _ stay here and deal with this shit. I’ll go talk to Eddie and make sure he gets home okay.”

Richie swallowed hard. That didn’t sit right with him. “You’ll make sure he’s okay? You promise?”

He nodded and patted Richie’s chest. “Yeah.” Stan motioned for Mike to come with him. The police would be here eventually. Mike only nodded.

“So w…w…what are w…w— _ fucking hell _ —gonna do? Christ, Richie…”

They all stared at Bowers groaning and rolling around on the ground.

“As much as I can’t stand the guy, we really should call for help,” Ben said with a sigh.

Bill nodded, and the two of them ran off to go find a payphone. Bev clapped him on the shoulder as she wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “Well, Tozier. You really fucked up this time, didn’t you?”

“Bev—”

“Definitely not saying he didn’t deserve it, dude. ‘Cause he totally had it coming.” She paused like she hesitated to say what she’d been thinking. Then with a sigh, she spit it out, “But was it worth losing Eddie for?”

Richie shook his head, the pounding resurfaced in his chest. The thought alone made his ribcage feel like it might snap in half. “I didn’t— I _didn’t_ _lose_ Eddie.”

“Listen, Richie.” She cupped his cheek to make him look in her direction. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, or what exactly he said he’d never forgive you for, but he’s dead serious, kid. He’s fucking fuming. You messed up, and a little bit of  _ Richie charm _ isn’t going to fix it this time. You  _ hurt _ him bad.” 

His chin quivered, and he tried his best to hold back whatever it was inside of him that threatened to boil over. “No, I wouldn’t—” He blinked away his misty vision. His face felt too hot and the pounding in his chest stretched all throughout his body. Richie could feel it in his cheeks, in his legs, in his fingers. He choked out, “I couldn’t ever hurt him.”

“I’m sorry, Richie.” She gave him a look of pity like she wasn’t the one who had just rubbed salt in the wounds he didn’t even know he had. 

They both ended up getting hauled down to the police station, and for a good half hour, Richie sobbed uncontrollably as Chief Bowers attempted to impatiently question him. He didn’t really give a shit about either Bowers Sr. or Jr., and he didn’t even care what was going to happen to him, but he hated the thought of Eddie being in pain because of something that he’d done. That wasn’t something that Richie could live with, and it sent him spiraling into one of his episodes. Eventually, Chief Bowers told him to go home and come back tomorrow when he was _done_ _being a pussy_ , and added if he didn’t show back up at exactly noon, they’d come looking for him. Guess being a dick runs in the family.

So Richie walked home with Bev who had waited for him after being questioned herself. “I told them what happened,” she mumbled, taking a drag on her cigarette. “Sorry, but I don’t trust any of those bastards with my safety.”

Richie shook his head. “I don’t care what you told them.”

She took a deep breath before handing him her half smoked cigarette. “Here. It’ll help you calm down.” She quirked a lopsided smile as she waved it in his face. “I promise. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you, Richie, like aside from being an obnoxious asshole all the time, but you need help.”

He snorted and took the cigarette, and for a long while he just held it before eventually taking a puff. He figured if Eddie hated his guts, he wouldn’t have to worry about any cancer lectures. 

“And sorry for being a shit friend tonight.” She stopped when they were only a block from her house and pulled Richie into a hug. “I’m not trying to be an asshole. I was just… _ stressed  _ and overwhelmed. And you needed to hear it eventually.” Then she pushed him away again. “You should go talk to Eddie tomorrow morning. If you don’t, he’ll only get even more mad. Trust me.”

“Thanks,” it came out weak and almost sarcastic sounding, but he meant it. 

Bev slapped the rest of the pack of cigarettes into his hand. “Next time you feel like crying, have one of these. It’s helped me.” She offered up another wobbly smile before spinning on her heels and heading home. Richie did the same.

He felt like absolute garbage the next morning when he woke up after tossing and turning before only getting about an hour and half of sleep, but he forced himself out of bed anyway because Bev was right. If he didn’t go see Eddie now, he wouldn’t have the courage to go do it later. But when he knocked on the Kaspbrak’s front door, some red from the night before still smudged around his eyes, Sonia slammed it right back in his face. And Richie felt like shit because on top of everything else, Eddie had to deal with her too. He’d probably told her what happened, and she’d probably started listing all the things she’d always hated about Richie.

Richie knocked again and listened to Eddie and Sonia argue for the next five minutes before Eddie opened up the door. “What?” he sneered, only peeking out from behind the front door, like he was hiding.

“Eddie Bear! Get back inside! That Tozier boy isn’t worth your time, love!”

He huffed before turning around and yelling back into the house, “ _ Stop _ , Ma!” Then he swung the door open, stepped outside, and slammed the door behind him taking a seat on the front steps. 

Richie took a deep breath and sat down next to him. “Has she made you absolutely hate me yet?”

Eddie pursed his lips. “No, Richie,” he muttered, “you managed to do that all on your own.”

“Do you really hate me?”

Eddie was quiet and answered eventually, but Richie was offended that he even had to think about it. “No, I don’t  _ hate _ you.”

“What did I… Why are you so mad, Eds?”

“Because I asked you not to do exactly what you just did last night.”

“But he’s an asshole, Eds! He’s a total  _ dick _ ! I just don’t understand why you’re so mad that he got hurt after what he did to you.”

“I’m not mad that Bowers got hurt, Richie, Jesus fucking Christ! I’m mad because you’re starting to act like him!”

“Oh, bullshit, Eds! All I did was give him what he already had coming!”

Eddie took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I’m trying not to fucking decapitate you right now, Richie.”

“ _ Why _ , Eddie? That’s all I wanna know!”

“Because you don’t see anything wrong with hitting someone over the head with a baseball bat, Richie. That’s why I’m mad because you sunk to his damn level. Only shitbags like him are allowed to do shit like that.”

“So what about the rest of us, Eds?” he scoffed. “We’re just supposed to roll over and take it.”

“No, we’re supposed to be  _ better _ than them.” He shook his head. “You act like an idiot, but I know how smart you are, Richie. Think about atoms, if an atom has too many electrons, shit hits the fan, but you balance out the electrons with protons, and everything works the way it’s supposed to. Adding fuel to Bowers’ hate fire is never going to make him stop.”

Richie swallowed hard. That wasn’t even how that worked, but Richie knew if he started lecturing Eddie on the exchange of electrons now, he’d only dig himself deeper. “I hate to break it to you, Eds, but that’s not how the world works. Nothing that really matters has ever been solved through peace.”

They sat, and Richie listened as Eddie’s breathing picked up, came out harsher and more sad, until eventually he sighed, “I’m sorry that you think that way. I need a break.”

“I have to be at the police station by noon, Eds. I dunno how long you need, but I can stop by after if you think we still need to ta—”

“No, Richie,” his voice was solid. “I need a break from you.”

“You don’t mean that.” But Richie didn’t believe his own words, and his body could testify to that. Pounding, pounding, pounding…

“Yes, I do. I need to take a break from us.” When Richie didn’t say anything, Eddie stood. “I’ll see you in school, Rich.” 

“Yeah, see you,” he mumbled when the door had already closed behind Eddie. He reached into the pocket of his sweatshirt and pulled out the pack of cigarettes that Bev gave him the night before. He lit one up, and after a few puffs, the pounding in his heart was reduced to a gentle thrum. Richie couldn’t afford to have another episode now, not when he’d just sent the police chief’s son to the hospital the night before. Bowers already let him off easy the night before, and he couldn’t blow off today no matter how badly he wanted to. If it was his choice, he would’ve stayed on the Kaspbrak’s property for as long as it took for Eddie to take him back. 

He left though because he knew if Eddie saw him smoking, there wouldn’t be a chance in hell that he’d ever forgive him. So he headed down to the police station early, and Chief Bowers sat him down once more, asking him what had happened the previous night. Richie told him, told him everything. There was no point in lying, Bev had already confessed for him last night. When he finished, Richie was sure that they’d lock him up, charge him with assault, let him rot in kid prison. He couldn’t say that he would’ve minded. He just felt empty now.

“S’is that true?” Bowers eyed him from across the table. 

“Yeah, Bev told you guys last night. I don’t—”

“Nah,” he chewed obnoxiously on the toothpick settled in the back of his mouth. “The part about you and that other kid bein’ queers and all. _ That _ true?”

Richie was ashamed to say that he shook his head, “No,” and told himself that it was for Eddie’s sake, to protect Eddie. Maybe that was Richie’s problem. Maybe Eddie was pissed because he was eighteen and didn’t need his stupid boyfriend to protect him, had been told he needed protecting his whole life, sheltered and manipulated into thinking he was too small, too weak, too sick. 

“I’ll tell ya what, kid.” He leaned back in his chair as he slapped his files and notepad down in front of him. “Court is a bitch, and I know Henry can be a real shithead sometimes. A real fuckin’ nightmare. I know how much he picks on all your friends.”

“That’s a real fuckin’ understatement,” he muttered, thinking maybe nicotine wasn’t the best option for someone like him. His episodes, his nervousness kept his mouth in check most of the time, and without it he’d probably start getting in a lot of trouble again. Except now he couldn’t play the I’m-only-twelve card.

“Yeah,” Bowers drawled, “right. He’s getting discharged today, from the hospital I mean. Nothing too bad, a stitch or two and a little concussion. His pansy ass will get over it eventually.” He shrugged and grabbed his coffee from the table between them. “You promise to stay away from him, and we’ll just forget all this even happened, alright?”

That sounded like the best deal he could’ve gotten, getting off free of charge  _ and _ a chance that Henry would stay off his ass. He’d take that. “Sure,” Richie nodded.

“Get outta here then. I don’t wanna see you again, ya hear?”

Richie nodded again, then stood and made his way back to Eddie’s. There was no way in hell he was going to give up. They didn’t need to go on a break, that was such bullshit. All they needed to do was sit down and talk and bitch at each other until shit felt right again. 

When he reached Eddie’s house though, music fluttered out of the window that Richie used to sneak through,  _ The Cure _ . Eddie was sad, but Richie wasn’t about to knock again because he knew that Sonia would just tell him to fuck off in a really polite, passive aggressive way, and he wasn’t mentally strong or capable enough to deal with her fake shit right now. Richie thought it through though, and sneaking into his room while Eddie was thoroughly peeved at him was a pretty bad idea, so he did the only logical thing he could think of and started throwing pebbles at Eddie’s window. After a solid five minutes of trying to get his attention, Eddie peeked out the glass and scowled down at Richie.

“The fuck do you want?” Even from ground level, Richie could see how swollen Eddie’s eyes were, how red and damp. 

“It’s a little cold to be keeping your window open, don’t you think, Eds?”

“Fuck off, Richie.”

“Can we just talk?”

“No.”

“Not even if I boombox the shit out of  _ Careless Whisper _ for you?”

“You don’t even like George Michael.”

“Maybe not.” He was out of moves and retreated to kicking aimlessly at Sonia’s grass.

Eddie stood there, leaning out his window like he might actually be contemplating forgiving Richie under this hypothetical circumstance. “It wouldn’t make a difference,” he finally said. 

“Not even if I serenade you?”

“Definitely not if you serenade me.” It seemed that in the past twelve hours, he and Eddie had endured more uncomfortably silent moments together than they did in their whole fifteen years of knowing each other. “We’re on a break, Richie,” Eddie finally said. “That means I don’t want to talk to you until we’re not on a break anymore.”

“Well if you don’t talk to me, then how will I know if we’re ever going to not be on a break again?”

Eddie shrugged, and he closed the window before walking back into his room. That hurt. And the worst part was that Richie still didn’t fully understand what exactly it was that he did wrong. He made his way over to Bev’s and huffed some more nicotine. It made the pain in his chest go away, but the urge to cry was strong as ever, and when he got to Aunt Peggy’s, she opened up the door and didn’t even show her usual disappointment in seeing him. “Oh dear,” she gasped before calling into the house, “ _ Beverly _ ! Your friend is here, and he’s very sad!” Richie had started crying, and he hadn’t even noticed until Peggy pointed it out. “Poor thing,” she had cooed.

Bev took one look at him and yanked him up to her room. They sat by the window and smoked some more, but Richie never stopped crying, and Bev never stopped giving him that awfully pitiful look. “Do you have any weed? This isn’t helping anymore.” He stamped his cigarette out and flicked it out the window. 

“Nah, I don’t touch that shit. Stan might though,” she made a move to stand, but never actually did. “Do you want me to give him a call?”

“No,” Richie shook his head. “Well, maybe. But not for the weed.”

“Okay, sweetie.” Bev stood for real this time and ruffled his hair. 

“Maybe if he’s gonna come though, he can bring some anyway.”

She chuckled. “I’ll ask him, Richie.” Bev called, and Stan came over. He didn’t have any weed, but Richie was okay with that, he wanted Stan more than the weed anyway. They all sat on Bev’s floor, the window closed now, and a dull quiet settled over them for far too long. Richie hated how silent people were starting to get around him. It reminded him too much of home.

“He said he wants to take a break,” Richie finally said. “What the fuck is that even supposed to mean? I told him we should just talk it out, but he told me to fuck off.”

“You can’t force him to be with you if he doesn’t want to,” Bev said. 

“But he doesn’t not want to be with me! He  _ loves _ me.”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t love you, Richie.”

“Why else wouldn’t he want to be with me then?”

“Richie,” Stan interrupted, “you know I took Eddie home the other night. Mike and I both did, and we talked a little—”

“Stan, if you told him to break up—”

“No,” Stan deadpanned. “I didn’t. But I wasn’t going to tell him to keep going if he wasn’t going to be happy doing so, Rich. He was my friend before he was your boyfriend.”

Richie set his cheek in his palm. “Whatever.” Stan was right, he always was, he was arguably the most logical person Richie ever had the pleasure of knowing. That didn’t make it any less shitty to hear that Eddie had talked to someone (their best friend at that) about not wanting to be with him.

“Anyway,” Stan continued, “I think he’s just scared, Richie.”   
  
“Of me?” He picked his head up again, but Stan shook his head.

“I don’t think so. He didn’t  _ say _ he was scared, but he just seemed really overwhelmed and not necessarily because of you knocking out Bowers.” Stan paused and let that sink in for Richie, but sometimes he needed things spelled out for him. “Did anything else happen to you two this weekend?”

Richie shrugged. “No. Everything was fine last night before all this shit happened. We got drunk, but that happens, y’know. It’s not anything new.”

Stan thought, mulling the events of the past couple days over, thinking of anything that he might have noticed, and then it hit him. “Richie, where were you right before we left Amy’s party?”

“With Eddie.”

“Yeah, okay. No shit. But what were you doing?”

Richie pursed his lips. Eddie would be pissed under normal circumstances if Richie had told anybody what they’d done, but he’d understand if it meant getting back together. At least that’s how Richie justified it to himself. “We uh, we were in the bathroom…doing stuff, you know.”

“Shit, like  _ stuff _ stuff” Bev scoffed. “Like for the first time? I thought you said Eddie wouldn’t be okay with that.”

“It’s different, we were  _ both _ really drunk. And yeah for the first time…” 

“That’s probably it,” Bev said, and Stan nodded.

“What? You think he hated it so much that he used some bullshit excuse about me turning into Bowers just to get away from me?”

“He compared you to  _ Bowers _ ?” Bev gawked, and Stan waved his hand in her face, talking over her, “No! That’s not what we’re saying!”

“Yeah, he did,” Richie addressed Bev first. “He said I’m like Bowers now because I hit him, something about sinking to his level. It’s fucking bullshit if you ask me.” He turned to Stan. “Then what  _ are _ you saying?”

“First of all,” Stan lifted a finger, “I don’t think that Eddie meant that. He was probably just angry. You’re the furthest thing from Henry Bowers, Rich. Trust me.” He lifted another finger. “Second, I’m  _ saying _ that he’s probably just freaked out right now. He needs some time to calm down with everything that’s happened this weekend. Just give him some space. You guys have been friends for basically your whole lives, and god knows you’ve been in love with each other for nearly as long. It’ll work out, Richie. I’m sure it will.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah! How could it not?”

Richie nodded. After all, Stan was the most logical of all of them. Except Richie waited, and he gave Eddie his space, but days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and Eddie still wouldn’t talk to him. Winter break rolled around, and Richie daydreamed about taking Eddie out in the snow just to watch his nose turn red, only to bring him back inside and swaddle him in blankets. He’d sip the hot cocoa Richie made him and snuggle up into Richie’s side when they put a movie on. He daydreamed about taking him sledding on Christmas morning and smothering him in gifts and kisses. 

Richie had to stop himself that week when he was in town with Stan and saw a watch that Eddie would’ve absolutely loved. It was new and gold with a thin, dark band, and Eddie had just broken his own a couple weeks ago, the one that he’d had since they were twelve—dark and clunky and digital with scuff marks all over it and a crack in the screen. He always complained about it stressing him out. “What if it’s behind a couple minutes, Richie?” he would always say, “Check the clocks, I think it crapped out again for a minute or two last night.” As if being a minute or two late for an appointment or class would be the end of the world. Richie guessed that for Eddie it might be. 

“If you get that watch for him, it could really go two ways,” Stan had talked him through it. “You could use it as a peace offering. Y’know, get him to at least talk to you again. Or it’ll just piss him off that you’re trying to talk to him, and you’ll be even more fucked.”

Knowing Eddie, it’d probably be the latter, but Richie got it anyway. He ended up overthinking it and never gave it to Eddie. When they returned to school, Eddie tried his best not to sit next to Richie at lunch, and when they were anywhere near each other, Eddie tried not to even look at him. If they ever caught eyes in the hallway between classes, Richie would smile and lift a hand, but Eddie would look away and walk faster. It went beyond not talking, beyond taking a break. Eddie was avoiding him, and Richie wanted more than anything to just hug him, hold him tight, because he had to be hurting. There wasn’t any other reason why Eddie would be this cold.

Eddie started hanging out with Bill, Mike, and Ben a lot more because Richie tended to gravitate towards Stan and Bev. Besides, every time he reached out to any of them, they’d tell Richie, “It’s probably not a good idea to hang out this weekend, I’m gonna be with Eddie,” or, “I’m actually going with Eddie tomorrow night, so maybe you could work something out with Stan.” Spring break went exactly like that too. 

Now that Eddie wasn’t talking to Richie, and Bill and Mike weren’t seeing him because  _ Eddie _ wasn’t seeing him, all their senior year plans went to shit. Mike, Bill, and Eddie went and had exciting adventures of their own. They invited Ben, and Ben invited Bev. Stan and Richie were not. Richie despised how many people this was starting to affect, and he began to resent Eddie just a little for not trying harder to work things out. 

“It’s okay, really,” Stan had insisted. “I don’t like the beach that much anyway.”

“That’s not the  _ point _ , Stan!”

“Whatever, Richie. It’s not a big deal.”

He knew Stan was just trying to make him feel better, trying not to hype up the situation any more than it already was, but the fact of the matter was that their friends since childhood were starting to drift apart. Really they were just leaving Richie out of everything, which was absolutely absurd because Richie still didn’t even understand why Eddie hated his guts. 

Richie wasn’t sure how he’d managed to go practically the entire school year without talking to Eddie. He’d tried a couple of times: chased after him in the hall, intentionally got to lunch early so Eddie couldn’t avoid sitting next him, shoved letters in his locker. He missed Eddie, and he wanted to understand what went wrong, how he managed to fuck up so badly that Eddie wanted no part of him anymore. 

Sometimes Ben tagged along with Bev, and it was weird, like he was playing both sides. Eventually, Richie started to practically interrogate him. “How’s Eddie? What’s he up to? Did he get into his top college? Has he mentioned me?”

“He’s just stressed,” Ben would shrug. “Y’know, moving out this August and all. He’s stressed, so I wouldn’t bother him.” But that was bullshit too because Stan had said the same thing in November. _He’s just stressed. Give it some time._ Now it was almost May, and Eddie was still _just stressed_ , still _needed_ _some time_. 

Richie spent more time than he would’ve liked at home now. He got a job a couple of months ago, but sometimes his hours were weird, and he got home too late to go out but still too early to go to sleep. So he would lay in bed and think about Eddie, about how much he missed him, about the countless hours they spent in his room, about how close turned into  _ close _ , and  _ close _ turned into completely disconnected in a matter of seconds. He didn’t have his episodes nearly as much anymore (thanks, Bev), at least not the ones that made him feel like his heart would rip out of his chest and he would throw up and pass out all at the same time, but he still cried a lot.

One night when he was making dinner for himself after a late shift, Maggie wandered into the kitchen, glass in hand (probably some tequila mixed into her red wine), and asked the simple question, “Where’s Eddie? I haven’t seen him in a while.” Richie started to sob on the spot and called her a bitch, but Maggie was the one to apologize and give him a hug…which was weird because she hadn’t hugged him since he was five and broke his finger after falling off his bike. It wasn’t a very good hug, but Richie imagined that she didn’t get much practice. 

May began to bleed into June. It was hot, too hot for Richie’s taste, and, in Richie’s humble opinion, the amount of responsibility being put on them at school was still too much as seniors in high school. He was ready to clock out for the year, show up, sit around for a couple of hours, and then go home. If Eddie was still talking to him, he’d sneak out of class and pull Eddie along with him. In times like these, Richie would do anything to be out of class, and there was nobody, not Stan or Bev, not Bill or Mike or even Ben, that he’d rather spend lazy summer days with than Eddie. He’d like to smoke with Eddie by the bathroom window, the one on the upstairs floor that was dark and half broken, and nobody liked to use it because it was dark and half broken. They’d only smoke a single joint between the two of them because Eddie would be too scared of getting caught.

But that wasn’t going to happen, so instead of sneaking out and going to the dark and broken upstairs bathroom to smoke, Richie went there to write another letter to Eddie. None of the others had worked so far, but nothing was going to happen unless Richie made it happen, Eddie made that much clear, so he figured one more couldn’t hurt. He felt like a borderline creep at this point, thought he might be getting too attached, too obsessive, but like Stan had said, Eddie was Richie’s friend before he was Richie’s boyfriend. And sure, Eddie said they were taking a break, but that didn’t mean he could ignore Richie. Maybe he could, but he shouldn’t have.

So Richie scribbled and scribbled out his chicken scratch handwriting onto the paper he borrowed from the kid he sat next to in class. He didn’t think he was making much sense, and he was definitely rambling, even in the form of a letter, but he’d written too many before this one, and he was running out of (eloquent) things to say. 

Richie hadn’t even noticed the final bell of the day ring until the bathroom door pushed open, and he looked up to see hoards of teenagers passing by in the hallway outside. Then he turned his attention to the person who came in as he slid his backpack over his paper. Richie took a deep breath when he saw it was just Eddie—gentle Eddie who couldn’t hurt a fly but managed to tear Richie’s world apart with only a few words. 

“Hi,” Richie’s voice squeaked, and Eddie broke from his initial shock of the awkward encounter to turn back out the door he’d just come through. “Eddie!” Richie jumped down from the wet counter to stop him. He almost felt bad that his legs were so much longer than Eddie’s when he closed the bathroom door again, and Eddie stood there, arms crossed and lips pursed with nowhere to go. “Come on, Eds.” Richie’s fingers trembled against the heavy wood. Having Eddie where he wanted him, like this, didn’t feel nearly as good as he thought it might. “I, uhm… I wrote you letters. I dunno if you got them, but I stuck them in your locker. I think I gave a couple to Bill too, y’know, to give to you, of course. I didn’t write Bill any letters. Uh…” He took a deep breath and wished he had a cigarette. He had some, but they were in his backpack on the floor instead of lit between his lips.

“Well,” Richie swallowed hard and held out the wrinkled piece of paper. His hand shook violently in front of Eddie. He could feel the pounding in his chest pick up almost immediately. Richie noticed that it didn’t sneak up on him so much anymore. “I wrote you another. I guess you don’t have to take it, but I—”

“ _ Fuck _ , Richie,” Eddie muttered under his breath as he scrubbed his hands over his face. The words were barely there, but Richie caught it. “Just shut up, okay?” He took the letter and folded it up before shoving it in his fanny pack, and Richie thought he might cry because after months and months, Eddie had finally spoken to him again. He didn’t care what the words were as long as they came from Eddie and were meant for Richie. 

“I miss you,” Richie sighed out the phrase so it would sound less shaky, less like he was about to sob. “I miss you so much.”

Eddie had done the same thing when he sighed, “Richie.” He finally looked up at the taller boy and shook his head. “Why’d you have to do this?”

Richie wasn’t quite sure what he was talking about. “I just— I wanted you to know that I love you and miss you, and I hope that you’re okay, so I wrote you the letters. Sorry, I just—”

“Richie, why’d you have to do  _ this _ ?” Eddie waved his hands between them, and the frustration in his eyes welled up faster than he could blink it away. “Why couldn’t you just leave it, Richie?” There wasn’t a trace of anger in his voice though, only a deep, sullen depression locked up in his throat and pooled behind his eyes. “Why couldn’t you just let things keep going the way that they were going?” He wiped under his nose with the back of his hand as he sniffled. “It was so much easier that way, but you keep pushing and  _ pushing _ .”

Richie reached out for a hug because his first instinct would always be to protect—scratch that, care for, love, comfort—Eddie, but Eddie only pushed him away. 

“Just leave me alone, Richie,  _ please _ .”

  
  



	8. Miss You The Most

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone :) two posts in one night bc I'd like to be done with Part 1 and shift my focus to Part 2.
> 
> I really do like this chapter too, probably my second favorite. Please hang in there for part 2, and thank you all for your devotion to part 1!!
> 
> CWs:  
> queer slurs, microaggressive sexism?, anxiety/attacks, idk this chapter is just super angsty

“So you’re just not going to take anyone to prom?” Bev sighed and rolled back on her bed. Her head hung off the side.

Richie shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I think you’re forgetting something crucial to all that, Bev.”

“Oh, come on, you need to get over Eddie already, Richie. You guys had a good run, but it’s over. It’s been over.”

“Not the point, asshole.”

“Okay, then what’s the point?”

“Uh, I’m  _ gay _ , Bev? And Eddie is probably the only other gay dude in this whole shitty town.” Richie tried not to think about how utterly fucked up it was that the universe gave Eddie to him on a silver platter, said  _ here have this one _ , and he managed to ruin that.

“You could go with Stan.”

“I think he’d actually rather die. Besides, didn’t he already ask someone?”

“Who? You mean Betty Davis? She said no.”

Richie’s chest filled with a sudden surge of anger. “Bitch,” he said simply instead. After what happened with Eddie and Bowers, he was trying harder to control the anger that he didn’t even know he had a problem with in the first place. “He deserves better anyway.”

“I’m telling you, you should ask him. He’ll say yes. It doesn’t have to be romantic or any of that bullshit, just, y’know, as friends.”

“Yeah, sure…”

“I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? He calls you a dumbass and says no?” 

“Bet he’d throw a punch if he was really in the mood. And I’m pretty sure he’s always in the mood to punch me.” 

“Yeah, but not a  _ real _ one. He’s Stan Uris.”

“I guess you’re right, but I just feel bad.” Richie sighed and rolled over on his stomach to lay down next to her. “Everyone knows now, y’know? And I know Stan doesn’t care, but I bet it still sucks being best friends with a fag and all…”

At first all Bev did was sit up, turn on her side, and stare him down, eyes wide and brows furrowed. “Don’t call yourself that,” she said quietly after a long while.

“Why not? Everyone else does.”

“Well fuck them,” she laid back down. “Besides, we’re all gonna leave in a couple of months, you’ll never have to see anyone from this hell town that you don’t want to ever again.”

Except Richie wasn’t leaving. He didn’t tell her that, but he wasn’t. About a month ago he decided that he didn’t want to go to college because he didn’t even know what he wanted to do for a career, so why bother spending money on classes he wasn’t even sure he would need. Besides, even if he was good at school, that didn’t mean he liked it. But not knowing what he wanted to do, and not going to college meant that he wouldn’t be leaving, at least not when everyone else would be. “Yeah, guess so,” he huffed anyway, a little white lie. He figured he’d make enough money to leave, and then get another job wherever he would be leaving to.

Richie did ask Stan later that week. He didn’t want to make it weird, he just wanted to get it over with. After class one day, Stan decided he’d walk Richie to work. “So, uh, I heard Betty turned you down, huh?”

“ _ Psh _ , yeah, Tozier. No need to rub it in.” Then he muttered, kicking a stone down the sidewalk, “Asshole.”

“It’s her loss, man,” Richie shrugged. “Are you thinking about asking anyone else?”

Stan shook his head. “Nah, going with someone to prom is kinda overrated anyway. I’ve been thinking, and I’m kinda glad Betty said no. She probably would’ve been a pain in the ass the whole night anyway.”

“Yeah,” Richie mumbled, “she is kinda a bitch.” Then it was quiet. Richie pulled out a cigarette. “Do you mind?”

Stan shook his head, but Richie saw him roll his eyes a little. He lit it anyway.

“I was thinking, I mean, obviously you don’t have to say yes or anything…” Instantly Richie watched Stan’s face twist, but he only  _ thought _ about backing down. “We could go together, you know, as friends or whatever. Sounds kinda stupid now that I say it out loud, but Bev made it sound nice. I just thought since—”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What?” Richie hadn’t expected him to say yes, especially not that quickly, thought it would’ve at least taken  _ some _ convincing.

“I mean, I guess there are worse people to go to prom with.”

Richie looked up to see Stan smiling. “Yeah, cool. Alright.” Richie stood up straight, gaining some of his confidence back. “I’ll pick you up at seven  _ oh _ clock, my dear Staniel.”

“Can I take back my yes? Because I want to take it back now.”

“Nuh-uh! How would you feel if Betty said yes and then took it back?” Richie shrugged, “Sorry, but you’re stuck with me.”

The following weeks went by similarly to how the past months had, and even though Richie was actually kind of excited for prom now, he couldn’t help but wonder if Eddie had asked anyone to go. He wouldn’t be surprised if others had asked Eddie to go, but they hadn’t spoken since their little run-in in the bathroom. Richie told himself that he was just going to have fun though and try his best to not think about Eddie. As promised, however, Richie was at Stan’s at seven thirty. He knew he’d said seven, but he was always late, so if Stan wasn’t expecting a seven thirty pick up time then he shouldn’t be able to call himself Richie’s best friend. 

“Right on time,” Stan chided when he opened the door.

“Hope you got your fancy  _ yarmulke _ on, Stan.”

“Shut up,” he hissed, scratching at the back of his head, “you know I hate this thing.” As soon as he got to school, he’d probably take it off, but of course Rabbi Uris wouldn’t let him leave the house without one. Stan was very much still Jewish, he just wasn’t a fan of all the formalities. “Wearing or not wearing a fancy hat doesn’t make me any less or more of a good person,” he’d always say.

“Mrs. Uris!” Richie called into the house. “I hope you don’t mind me stealing your lovely son for the night!” Stan’s mom still loved him even after word got around, but his dad on the other hand, well…he  _ was _ a Rabbi, a fairly orthodox one at that. 

“Oh, Richie, honey, is that you?” She called back to him, and then she began searching the house, or at least that’s what it sounded like to Richie. “Let me take your pictures!”

“I  _ swear _ , Rich.” Stan shoved him out the door. “We actually gotta go, Mom! I’ll see you when I get home! Bye!” He slammed the door without another word and pushed Richie down the street. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Starting off the night on such a high note, Stan the man. Like your style.” He paused and looked Stan over, trying his best not to make it look like he was checking him out. “For real though, you look good.”

Stan looked down at himself with a shrug. “Thanks.” He wore a loose fitting dark mauve suit, pants pulled up to his waist with a thin black belt to hold them there. A black t-shirt settled tucked into his pants under his matching mauve jacket. “My mom gave me a lot of shit for it, said it wasn’t formal enough.”

Richie shrugged, “Oh well.” Then he unbuttoned his own jacket to show off his button down shirt underneath. “Huh?” He nudged Stan with his elbow. 

“You’re an idiot,” Stan huffed as he looked over the brightly colored dinosaurs all over Richie’s shirt. “Very fitting. Very Richie.” He smiled a classic Stan smile—something you couldn’t tell should be conveying happiness aside from the slight upturn in the corner of his mouth. It was fond though, much more than his usual half assed smirks. This one actually reached his eyes, softened them.

“I was going to do a crazy jacket, but I figured if I wanted to take the jacket off, I’d be left looking a little boring, so the dino shirt it was!”

Stan nodded in approval, and they watched as a few popular kids from their grade drove by, windows rolled down and obnoxiously loud music blaring as they shot by. Richie sighed and slumped forward, thinking about all the shitty music they were probably gonna hear tonight. “We aren’t gonna like, take those stupid pictures together, are we?”

Richie stood up straight again. “Uh, you mean, like…the couple photos that you take when you first walk in?” They looked at each other, caught eyes, and Richie watched as Stan’s face went red. “No! Of course not! I mean, I asked you to prom as my  _ best friend _ , Stan, not my boyfriend.”

“Okay,” Stan nodded. “Good.” Then Stan paused before looking up again and saying, “It’s not that I’d  _ care _ , Richie.”

“No. Yeah, I get it, Stan.” He didn’t really like talking about these kinds of things. Once it was out in the open, and everyone knew, he didn’t think there was a point in talking about it anymore. It just made everyone feel weird.

“I just mean, I wouldn’t care, Richie…if anyone thought that I— that  _ we _ —”

“Stan, are you saying what I think you’re saying? Are you—”

“No! I’m not—” he cut himself off and took a breath. “I’m just saying that I wouldn’t care if people thought I  _ was _ .”

Richie felt strange about the way they were speaking, communicating in code. He licked his lips, and huffed a little, stood up straight. 

“Because there’s nothing wrong with it, Richie.” Stan shrugged. “So who gives a shit if everyone thinks I’m gay after I go to prom with my best friend.” 

Richie pursed his lips and hung his head low, trying to get his hair to cover the way his face flushed violently because Stan had said out loud what Richie couldn’t even admit to himself for years and years. It made him happy and strangely proud that Stan genuinely didn’t mind as much as he said he didn’t. “Cool,” Richie smiled when he felt his face had sufficiently chilled. “Cool, yeah. Thanks, Stan. For real.” In his defense, they were walking all the way to school in June while wearing suits.

“Alright, alright,” Stan huffed, fake punching Richie in the arm, only using enough force to make him slightly lose his balance. “Don’t make it weird. And don’t tell anyone that I’m actually being nice to you.”

Richie wanted to tell him that everyone already knew that Stan didn’t actually hate him, but he thought he’d just let Stan have this one. As soon as they walked into the school gym, Richie could immediately split the crowd into two groups—those who wore tight dresses, the kind that let their tits hang out, and those who wore two pieces, complete with what was essentially a floor length tutu. He could even separate the guys into these categories: those who’d let their tits hang out and those who didn’t know how to properly dress themselves. Richie wasn’t quite sure which one he fell under, only knew that he liked to keep his body tucked away.

“This is so dumb,” Stan sighed. “I’m only here for you, and like, Bev and Ben. So please make this night bearable.”

Richie couldn’t help feeling the same when all they played was Madonna and other shitty pop music. He told himself that he shouldn’t be mad though, that crappy music was to be expected at all high school dances. What else were all the straight couples supposed to grind on each other to? Occasionally they played some Whitney, and Richie would revel in the break of something that actually sounded  _ good _ . A lot of people would argue that Madonna and Whitney had the same sound, but Richie would fight that claim until the day he died. 

Stan pulled Richie along because he had found Bev and Ben sitting at a table in one of the far corners of the gym. “Well, don’t you look adorable, Beverly,” Richie said, solely to get under her skin.

“Oh fuck off.”

“No, for real, if I wasn’t already committed to a life of loving dick, I’d consider—”   
  


“Watch it, Tozier.” Ben didn’t get angry very often, but Richie could see the look in his eyes when he glanced over. He wasn’t bluffing. Even if he was barely taller than Bev (and Bev was only five foot four on her best day), the kid could pack a punch. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie nodded, taking a seat. “I get it, Benny. It was just a joke. I’d never  _ actually _ settle for fucking Bev. Neither of us would be into that. It’d be gross.”

She reached forward to grab a dinner roll from the center of their table and chucked it at Richie’s head. They all watched it bounce off and roll onto the floor. Ben snorted out a long laugh, “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“Aren’t you going to stand up for me, Stan? You’re supposed to be my date tonight.”

He shook his head. “Richie, I want you to know that I’m saying this with my whole chest: you deserved that.” 

They all laughed some more, and considering the rest of the night passed by pretty similarly, Richie would say they managed to make the whole thing bearable for each other. However, just for the record, they could’ve totally thrown a better prom themselves (with better music).

Eventually, Richie dragged Stan out to dance, and, though resistant at first, he ended up not absolutely hating Richie for making him have fun. Neither of them could dance, and Richie could tell that Stan found it incredibly embarrassing, but he didn’t come here to impress anyone. They got in a good fifteen minutes of flailing around like idiots before they put Madonna on again, and Richie refused to keep dancing.

“I just don’t understand why people can’t dance to like, Nirvana or Fleetwood Mac, y’know?”

“Richie?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re an idiot.”

Richie regret acknowledging Stan as the most logical out of their friend group because it meant he could call him a dumbass. He did it before Richie ever awarded Stan such a title, but now Richie couldn’t even argue because, “I’m the smartest one here, Rich. I  _ know _ .”

Meals were served from the diner down on Main, and after picking at his food, Richie tugged at Stan’s arm again. “Come on, old man Stan, let’s  _ go _ .” But the three songs that he had all but forced Stan to dance to in the first place had seemingly wiped him out for the night, so instead Richie went and third-wheeled it with Ben and Bev.

Somewhere off in the far corner of the room, Eddie danced with Bill and Mike. Richie spotted him for the first time that night when he sat down again with Stan because his biology teacher manning the music had announced that he’d be  _ slowing it down _ . And Richie felt mocked, like he was in some stupid, cheesy rom-com, and this was supposed to be his redeeming arch where he saw Eddie again after so long, and the slow, love song came on, and he was just supposed to walk right up to Eddie and kiss him and everything would be fine again. 

In lieu of this outrageously unrealistic plot advancement, Richie only watched as Eddie laughed and sat down with Mike and Bill. He looked like he was having fun at least.

“Y’know,” Stan shrugged, “if this is any consolation, I think that Eddie is a real dick for what he did.”

Richie wanted more than anything to take comfort in that, to find some solace, some closure, something that would make him think, “Yeah, Eddie’s a fucking dick. Fuck that guy,” and just move on. But he couldn’t because Eddie wasn’t an asshole. He didn’t have it in him to be the bad guy. “He’s not though,” Richie shrugged. “He’s not a dick. Even if he’s acting like one.”

“Okay, but what he did was shitty. You deserve better than that, Richie. I know I joke around a lot, but you treated him like a fucking prince. I understand him wanting a little bit of time, but  _ fuck _ . He just straight up ignored you for months. That’s not how you treat someone that you love.” 

Richie felt the thud of his heart become just a little more prominent, and he wasn’t sure why because he wasn’t nervous or stressed. He was just sad and maybe a little bit angry, but the craving for a cigarette still crawled up his legs and scratched at his stomach. Every time he felt the flutter in his chest, his instinct was to grab for the little paper box in his front sweatshirt pocket. “Yeah, alright, Stan,” was all he could muster up even if he did agree with everything he had said. 

“Shit, sorry,” Stan huffed out. It was genuine though. “I didn’t mean to fuck up the mood. It just pisses me off that he treats you like you haven’t been in love with each other for the past ten years. Like, it was  _ obvious _ , Richie. I’m pretty sure we all knew before you two even did.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do about it now?” Eddie looked up and caught Richie staring. The smile on his face faltered ever so slightly before he looked away again. Richie did the same as Stan shrugged.

“You did a lot, Rich. I mean, you wrote about a dozen letters, made an effort to sit next to him at lunch. You reached out, and he gave you nothing. As much as it fucking sucks, I’m not sure there’s anything you can do anymore.”

Richie nodded as Bev and Ben came to sit down with them, and the music picked up again:  _ The Cure _ , and the first really good song they played all night. He felt mocked for a second time that night though, and he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander back over to Eddie as Mike stood and pulled him back out onto the dance floor. 

_ The Cure _ was their thing, at least it had been. Richie was the one to first tell Eddie about the band, at least he liked to think he was. In reality, his dad had left a bunch of records and cassettes for Eddie when he died, but Richie was the one to make him listen to them. Eddie had a lot of  _ The Cure _ ’s stuff in his room, and Richie wondered what Eddie did when he listened to them now. Most of the time Richie cried. He remembered listening to  _ Love Cats _ with Eddie back in late August. His bedroom windows were open, but the door was locked because it was a Saturday, and Sonia was home on Saturdays. 

_ We move like cagey tigers. _

_ We couldn't get closer than this. _

_ The way we walk, _

_ The way we talk, _

_ The way we stalk, _

_ The way we kiss. _

Richie had danced for Eddie, and Eddie laughed, calling him a dumbass as fondly as one could possibly say the word before jumping on him. An onslaught of kisses followed, and then it was Richie’s turn to laugh and pull Eddie in close, hold him tight, think about what they might do for Eddie’s birthday that year, what he might get him. 

_ Into the sea, _

_ You and me, _

_ All these years and no one heard. _

_ I'll show you in spring, _

_ It's a treacherous thing. _

Richie still wore his ring, but he thought maybe it’d be a good idea to take it off, to hide it away somewhere and only pull it out again when he wasn’t still pining over his ex-best friend. He played with it now, spun it around his finger because he didn’t have any cigarettes and for some reason his sadness was quickly being replaced with waves of nausea. 

_ Hand in hand _

_ Is the only way to land _

_ And always the right way round, _

_ Not broken in pieces _

_ Like hated little meeces.  _

_ How could we miss _

_ Someone as dumb as this? _

But Eddie was dancing and jumping around and laughing, and it reminded Richie of the night they went to the town fair for the Fourth of July, when Richie had a hefty helping of Eddie Kaspbrak right in front of him and wasn’t taking full advantage of the offer. He felt stupid now, guilty, like he wasted time being scared. Everyone knew now, and nothing  _ really _ changed. Sure, he nearly killed Bowers, and Eddie hated his guts… And okay, maybe things have changed, but this wasn’t ever what he was scared of. Losing Eddie wasn’t ever in his plans. 

Eddie caught Richie’s eyes again, but instead of looking away, he smiled softly, gently, and Richie wasn’t sure how to feel about that because just two weeks ago Eddie had told him to fuck off.  _ Just leave me alone, Richie, please.  _ Just two minutes ago he had hurried to look the other way. “I, uhm…” Richie felt around in his pockets, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair, “I’m gonna head outside for a minute.” When he felt the box filled with his little comfort sticks, he made a beeline for the nearest exit, not bothering to listen for Stan’s response.

As soon as the humid chill of June’s late night air hit him, he could take a deep breath again, but that wasn’t enough to calm the thundering in his chest. So he pulled out a cigarette and lighter before tossing the jacket on the ground in front of him and taking a seat. Richie closed his eyes and took a long drag before leaning back. “ _ Fuck _ ,” he exhaled, muttering to himself, shaky fingers squeezing the delicate stick of tobacco and nicotine, “Fuck that. Stan was right, fuck Eddie. It’s time to move the hell on.”

The door behind him clicked open.  _ Stan _ , Richie thought and tried not to roll his eyes because he just wanted to help, to be a good friend. They were prom dates after all, whatever the hell that meant, and Richie just bailed on him. “Stan, I just need a minute,” he sighed, waving his hand behind him and hoping he would just go back inside without question if the smoke wafted close enough to him.

“Definitely not Stan.” Eddie sat down next to him. “Since when do you smoke?”

Richie tried not to look at him but still switched hands so Eddie wasn’t in direct fire of the cigarette. “Since when do you care?” 

Eddie didn’t respond, and they both sat there as Richie took his time finishing off the cigarette, blowing the smoke away from Eddie, partially because he didn’t want to be an asshole and partially because he didn’t want to look at him and instantly cave again. They sat in silence until Richie tossed the butt on the ground and squashed it under the toe of his shoe. 

“I’m sorry,” were the first words that came out of Eddie’s mouth when he spoke again. “I guess I kinda ruined us.” Except he laughed a little when he said it, but it sounded nervous. Richie knew it had to be. It still stung. 

“No kidding.”

“You have every right to be mad at me, Richie. And you don’t have to forgive me, but I am sorry. I didn’t mean to push you away.”

“So what the fuck, Eds?” Richie looked up now, absolute bewilderment settled in his eyes, on this tongue, and he couldn’t help the dry laugh that sounded in his throat because that had to be the most bullshit he’s heard in a while. “What did you think was gonna fucking happen?” Something solid caught in his throat, and his eyes burned. “ _ Fuck _ .” He shook his head and looked away again, digging for another cigarette. “And why now? It’s almost summer again, Eddie! It’s almost fucking summer, and you’re going to be moving away soon. Is that why? Is that why you’re sorry because you can be now, because it’s  _ easier _ ?” Richie struggled to light his cigarette with shaking hands and took a quick inhale before continuing, “Because it’s more convenient for you to be sorry now? Because you can just move on in a couple of months and not have to feel guilty anymore because you can leave knowing that you’ve apologized?” 

“That’s not it, Richie. I just—”

“Fuck you, Eddie.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck you if you think I’m just gonna keep waiting around because I  _ can’t _ anymore. I can’t do it. It fucking hurts, alright?” He took a deep breath and tugged his glasses off to wipe under his eyes as he lifted the nicotine to his lips again. Richie mulled over his words, over what he just said. He wasn’t quite sure where that came from, but he meant all of it, every single word. “I’m sorry,” he huffed. “I’m being an asshole, but you started it.”

“You’re right,” Eddie sighed and then left them in quiet for a little while longer, waiting to see if Richie had anything more left to say. “Like I said, you have every right to be mad at me. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry because I miss you, Richie. I miss Bev and Stan too, but I miss you the most. I don’t like not seeing you every day. I don’t like not hearing your stupid nicknames and holding your hand.”

Richie shook his head. “So why’d you do it?”

“I was scared, Richie. And I know that’s a really shitty excuse, but I was so scared. I tried telling myself that I didn’t care what other people thought, that I didn’t care if people knew. But I did, or I do, I don’t even know… And then all that shit with Bowers happened, and I thought that everything was going to blow up, that shit was gonna hit the fan because the cops were involved. I just didn’t want to be in the spotlight as Derry’s only queer.”

Richie wanted to call him a coward, call him weak, but he also wanted to hug him because he’d felt the exact same way at some point, felt it still. He wanted to do a lot of things, but what came out was an attempt to hide every single one of those, “And here I thought you ran away because you thought my dick was gross after seeing it in Amy Hoffman’s bathroom.”

Eddie let out a soft, wet laugh. “No, Richie. Your dick was fine.”

“Just fine?”

“God fucking dammit, Richie.” Eddie ran his hands over his face but laughed anyway.

“So, uh…do you hate me?”

“No. I never hated you.” Eddie tapped his feet softly on the concrete below them. “Do you hate me?”

“I could never hate you, Eddie.” Richie could, however, be incredibly pissed off at him, but that didn’t feel like the right thing to say. “Are you going to stop ignoring me now?”

“If you’ll have me again, Chie.”

That small name did things to him that no amount of nicotine could, the way it fell so tenderly off Eddie’s lips. It melted him, turned him to putty, made him want to cry and laugh all the same. Richie took another drag on his cigarette though before stomping it out, tried to distract himself from Eddie’s absolute charm. “I don’t— I don’t think we can go back, Eds. Not to the way things were last summer anyway. I can’t, not right away.” He still had too much harbored anger and bitterness pent up in him that he wasn’t quite sure would work in any kind of relationship. Richie didn’t see it going anyway anytime soon either. 

“That’s okay,” Eddie shook his head and scooted a bit closer, making a move like maybe he wanted to hug Richie, to kiss him, but he held back. 

“Maybe we can just go back to not ignoring each other for now.”

Eddie nodded and brought his hand carefully over Richie’s knee, squeezed a little, close but not too close. “I’d like that.”

Something deep in Richie felt odd about that, like something wasn’t quite right about speaking to Eddie again in a way that wasn’t nervous or furious. He felt like he still needed more, like being scared for eight fucking months wasn’t a good enough excuse for him, for getting ignored and his heart stomped on for months on end. Richie ignored that though because this was what he wanted all this time, right? He wanted Eddie back, and now he had him.

~*~

The summer of ‘93 flew by. Richie and Eddie talked again, and they all hung out as seven instead of in two split groups. It wasn’t horribly awkward like Richie thought it might be. 

Ben and Bev were going to colleges in the same city which was awfully convenient. Stan was going west, and Bill was too. Mike was going down to Florida. And Eddie was going to New York. Richie had made his peace with having to stay in Derry, at least for a couple more months until he saved up enough to leave. What he hadn’t made peace with yet was the fact that almost his entire senior year had been spent without Eddie. They fought a lot more now, but Richie chalked it all up to months worth of unspoken feelings. 

Eddie was the first to leave for college. Sonia was driving him down to one of the many state universities in New York where he’d study psychology. Richie would’ve liked to listen to Eddie talk about it all day, about how excited he was, about how interested he was, about how  _ ready _ he was. 

All seven of them huddled together on the street in front of Eddie’s house. Most of them gave him words of encouragement, but as much as Richie liked to hear Eddie talk about it all, he didn’t actually ever want him to leave. His bags were packed and tucked in the trunk of the car, and Sonia waited impatiently, holding onto the handle of the diver’s side door.

Eddie hugged each and every one of them, saving Richie for last. He nuzzled into Richie’s chest, arms wrapped tight around his waist. “Come visit?” he mumbled, words hoarse in his throat, still holding on.

“Yeah, Eds. Of course.” As much as Richie didn’t want it to be, it was an empty promise.

“Good.” Eddie pulled away, a little too rigidly, and he held out a folded up piece of paper.

“What’s this?”

“Take it, Richie.” Eddie wouldn’t look up at him.

“What—”

“Just take it.”

Richie pushed it into the front pocket of his shorts as Eddie waved goodbye one last time, hopping into the passenger seat. On the way home, Richie found himself getting choked up, and Stan called him on it. “Really, Tozier? You’re fucking crying?”

“Fuck off, Stan.”

When he reached the comforts of his own room, Richie dug into his pocket and pulled out the square folded paper. He picked at the shedding corners—the corners that someone else had already worn down with worry—and hesitated to open it. Part of him didn’t want to know which one of the endless possibilities of unspoken truths Eddie had left for him, which one he wanted Richie to remember him by. But he missed Eddie already, even only an hour after saying goodbye, so eventually, after a while of mulling over what could really be so bad about reading the letter, he opened it.

_ Hi Chie, _

_ I figured I owe you at least one letter considering all the others you’ve written for me. There are so many things that I want to say, that I’ve wanted to say this past year and couldn’t for some reason.  _

_ First of all, I want to say thank you. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for being my first over and over again, my first friend, my first boyfriend, my first kiss, hand hold, my first listen to The Cure. The list goes on and on and on, so much so that I don’t think I’d be who I am today without your grand influence. Thank you for always being there for me, from when we were five to the very day I felt for college, through friendship, and something more, to months of me being being a total fucking idiot. Thank you. _

_ Secondly, I want to say that I’m sorry, again. I’m sorry for ruining us, genuinely. If I could go back and change the way I acted, I would. I’d do anything to spend our last spring break together, to take you to prom, to lay with you one last time on that god forsaken hammock in the clubhouse. I know that I messed up, and I know that you still hold that against me, and I didn’t think that I could ever live with that, but I’m okay with it now. I still feel this insatiable guilt every time I think about you or look at you because it’s my fault, Richie. Please, don’t ever think otherwise.  _

_ Lastly, I want to say that I love you. I love you so much, and I don’t think anyone in this world could possibly fill the Richie sized hole in my heart. I think, I hope, that one day things will work out for the both of us. And I know that time is the thing that really fucked us up, but maybe that’s the only thing that’ll fix us too. I don’t want to take a break from you, Richie, not ever again, and especially not a college length break. So please don’t hesitate to reach out, I know you won’t. _

_ I’ll miss you the most, _

_ Eddie Spaghetti _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to be as thorough as possible with the CWs, but if I miss anything that you think should be tagged pls lmk !!
> 
> Thank you again for stopping by :)


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